John's own Person of Interest
by Neshomeleh
Summary: I just changed the last chapter slightly. I A dark lonely street, a helpless Harold versus five guys and their knife. What will happen, when John finds out? And what was Harold doing there anyway? John will have to teach some lessons and has a hard time to keep his temper under control. Someone has to pay dearly for what was done to the only Person of Interest in his life.
1. An unfair fight

**I don't own anything except my plot. I'm not sure, if I rather had Harold or John in my life - I think a bit of both would be perfect:) But this is not about me (is it ever about us - about you or me?), it's about the two men that are both heroes in their very different own ways.**

**I'm pretty new to the show and to ff-net. I wrote this chapter at 3 am in Germany. I am German and English is just a language I've learned in school or, probably most of it, I taught myself by translating lyrics, reading books and talking to people in Australia, Canada, Great Britain and the US. I hope you forgive me any mistakes.**

**I like reviews, but I'm not begging for them. So if you leave me one, I will be happy, because to get something you didn't ask for is a much better feeling than asking for it and feel that it wasn't given from the heart and with free will. Does that make sense?;)**

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It was already dark outside, when he left the small store. He was happy with himself and smiling. The gift he got for his friend would hopefully make him smile.

He didn't like any kind of weapons, but he knew it was a necessary of their job; at least for his partner who was working out there, in the jungle of the numbers. It was funny how his life had changed since he had found the man. 'Funny' was probably not the right word to describe it, but the only one he could think of tonight.

He was tired, his car was parked two blocks away, because he had left it there earlier that day and had been picked up by John. He had then taken a cab to come to the store, get the gift and then his car.

The streets were lonely and in a few corners it was too dark to see much of the surroundings. There was another thing. The current weather changes didn't help his hurting back. The weather had been crazy for a couple of days now and he didn't get enough sleep at night, because he was in too much pain and then the pain got worse, because he fell asleep on his desk or the table during the daytime.

Yes, walking was uncomfortable for him. He knew, he was slower than usual, but he took his fate as it came. No, complaining wasn't like him. Such times were long over; he sometimes, lately more often, felt that he deserved the pain for what had happened because of the machine, before he and John started working together.

A group of young men stepped out of a door behind him. He always felt somewhat nervous in such situations, but didn't worry too much about it.

John had offered a few hours of training, so that he would be able to defend himself, but that was back, when he didn't know John well enough. And honestly, why? Back at that time he hadn't gone outside a lot. Funny that he remembered that just now.

He heard the boys behind him whisper and laugh and felt his nervousness reaching his heart, that was now beating faster. Then there was a voice behind him.

"Hey gimp! Move faster, you're not alone on the street."

He was used to people calling him a lot of mean words since his accident and he normally didn't care about it anymore, but it was a different situation. He was alone in a dark street with this group of boys. He stepped aside in order to let them walk by so they could walk in front of him.

"We want to see you run. Do it!"

He heard them laugh and knew he was in trouble, he stayed where he was and tried to not show his fear.

One of the guys had something in his hand and was in an instant at his side. He held the knife against his throat. "Run!"

There was no way he could run on good days, let alone on days like this, when he felt stiff and in bad pain. "I can't, but I have money."

"We don't want your money, we want to see you run." The man pushed him forward. "Run!"

And he ran as good as he could, what wasn't fast. The guys laughed, they jostled him forward, tripped him up and called him names that started hurting after a while. He felt terribly helpless.

Someone pushed him too hard, he couldn't find his balance again and fell on the ground. Pain shot through his body and he cried out.

The boys laughed even harder. "Can't walk, huh? Oh, does it hurt?"

"Hey, Rick leave him alone. He had enough." One of the guys came closer, bent over and reached out to help him get up.

He was surprised, but thankful and grabbed the strong hand. He was just half way up, when the guy pushed him back hard and he hit the ground again, this time with the back of his head. Pain ran through his body again.

Two guys picked him up pinned him to a house. Another one rammed his fist in his stomach. He bent over in pain and saw stars, when the same guy pulled his knee up and connected it with the victims forehead, before he blew several more fists across his torso and face.

He didn't know how much time had passed, when they let him go and he went down on his knees and then on the ground. He got his wallet from his pocket. He had nothing but money in it, maybe four hundred dollars. "Here's my money, please let me go."

One of the guys took the money, but didn't let him go. He got down beside him and pushed the blade deep in the good leg, through the muscles in the knee. Their prey screamed in pain. That gave them new motivation and all five of them started kicking at him.

Feet hurt his face, his head, his torso, his legs, his neck and then there were several kicks to his back. From his tailbone up his spine, he was sure they didn't miss a single part of it. When the knife was pulled out from his leg, only to be pushed in there again, this time from the other side, he felt his consciousness fading. But he didn't pass out before the knife hit again, this time somewhere else, maybe his kidney.

The guys pulled the unconscious man up and threw him into a big dumpster. They covered him with trash until nothing was seen of him. The man wouldn't make it out there anymore. It would be his death bed.

They left the dumpster and walked away into the night, discussing about a way to spend the gimp's money. None of them noticed the camera that was watching them through the whole thing.

The camera started connecting with the machine.


	2. An amazing friend and a SOS

**Thank you for your reviews. I hope I didn't forget to reply to any of them. I also thank the guests that took the time to review. It's late again, or early morning, depends on how you see it, I guess. I hope the second chapter does not disappoint you.**

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John felt content tonight, alive. Not exactly something he was used to. But it made him smile. His life hadn't really given him many chances to feel this way or enjoy it.

It was a quiet night and he sat on the couch looking through the old magazine that didn't interest him at all. He couldn't concentrate on it anyway. His thoughts were still on the late dinner he had had with Finch nearly two hours ago.

They had been to a nice place. One of the restaurants he wouldn't have known about. An insider tip as far as Finch had told him. The food had been delicious. But even more than the peace and food he had enjoyed the company.

He knew Finch for more than a year now and he never failed to surprise him. The man made him smile, even laugh with his dry humor. John had noticed more than once now, that the guy always helped him to relax and feel better. Or more accurately, just having Harold's voice in his ear or having him around brought his life in balance, even with the things they were facing on an almost daily basis.

Finch wasn't his boss or partner anymore. Well he still was, of course, but he was also John's friend. Probably the best he ever had. There was something about the man. He couldn't put a finger on it, but that was okay. There were things that didn't need to be figured out. And this friendship was certainly one of them.

It was really rare that they had a dinner or something together for no reason. Just enjoying a few hours with a friend. Something private. Rare, yes, but not unwanted. They just didn't have the time to do it a lot and they both enjoyed being alone, too. Reese thought, that it was much easier to feel happy being alone, since he knew that he wasn't alone in this cold dangerous world anymore. He wondered, if that made any sense. Harold would probably know.

After the dinner they had separated. John had offered to bring Finch wherever he wanted to go, but Harold hadn't accepted. _'Thank you, Mr. Reese, but I have something to do close by. Just drive home and rest. You need it. Your job is exhausting.'_ And somehow John hadn't been surprised, when he had seen the smaller man getting into a cab just a few minutes later. Yes, he had smiled about it, again. Finch and his secrets. There had been a time, when he had tried to know all and everything about the guy, but not anymore. He wouldn't follow him nowadays. Let the man have his privacy.

John yawned. He was tired and he had learned that he could actually feel content, just by such an ordinary thing. His bed was calling, but he needed something to drink first. He left for the kitchen in order to get some cold water. It was then, when his phone rang. It was getting close to midnight. Who would call him this late? Not that there were a lot of people that knew his number, but still.

John got the phone and saw Finch calling him. "Harold, are you already missing me?" He couldn't help but grin. But that didn't last long.

A mixture of different human and mechanic voices spoke to him through the line and he took another look to make sure the call really came from Finch's phone number: "SOS! Admin in danger! SOS! Admin in danger!"

"Finch, are you there? Trying out some new stuff?" John asked, knowing how silly it was.

"Take over! Take over!" The machine didn't stop and he hung up. He got his keys and walked out the door, dialing Finch's number, but the man didn't answer. John hurried to the library. He hoped his friend was there and had just fallen asleep or that there was some sort of computer problem.

He tried to stay calm. This was new. Finch's phone, or probably the machine using Finch's number, contacted him?! To tell him Finch was in danger! He hoped it wasn't serious, but he knew that Finch never would have programmed an alert like this for situations that were no threat to their lives or the machine. He also knew that the older man had only done it to please him. He had insisted on a way to know, if the man was in some sort of serious trouble. Finch had argued about it, but John was thankful now, that he had been so determined about it.

He had to get to the machine. He had to get to Harold. The need to protect his friend was all he had on his mind now. This kind of feeling responsible and protective for someone was another thing that was new to him. He had to make sure that nobody would take that away from him, take Harold Finch away.


	3. Exploring quotes, a gift and a book

Okay, this chapter took me a while. I don't know, if it was the holiday stress or the change in my medication or even the rainy dark weather outside. I hope the chapter worked out fine enough:)

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John's good mood from earlier had long turned into worry. His heart was racing and he didn't feel well. Probably a panic attack.

Seriously? John Reese having a panic attack? The man that had been to war and had worked for the CIA? He didn't know. Harold would know for sure. The man always knew everything.

But Finch wasn't were he was supposed to be, so he couldn't ask the genius. Finch wasn't here. In safety.

No, the machine had made this very clear to John. The admin, _Harold_, was in danger. That was exactly why the ex-op was here now, looking for answers.

Adding frustration and anger to the worry, would give a pretty good picture of how John felt. Why hadn't the machine just called to tell him that the admin was in danger _and_ where to look for the boss. His partner, Harold Finch, his friend.

Reese could be very patient, but he hated wasting time, especially with an innocent life at risk. _This _was more than just an innocent person in danger, more than any of the usual numbers. It was the man that had given him more than just a job, he had given him his pride back, a new life. A good one, a better one than he probably ever had had.

The machine was like Finch. No, the machine _was_ Finch. He smiled about this softened his mood some. But the fact also had something negative about it. Finch was complicated and so was the machine, of course. Finch loved secrets and the machine had many, of course. Finch was a person with many facets and the machine was just the same. Finch was hard to read or understand and so was the machine, honestly, it was.

John sighed. As much as he had come to love all those features about Harold, he didn't like them about the machine. Talking about it – he faced the riddle that was given to him now. He guessed that he had to sort this out in order to get some much needed information. It would take time and that was exactly what Harold might not have.

**BoFQ4U:85O6W-32SA12C13D-24A18B19-53FC4M-71W2S-45T5F-717P-79A2dSE**

"Great, Finch, can't you do anything the easy way?" He knew it was just another way to keep everything the machine had to give safe, including their own identities and lives, but still. At any other time, he would have smiled about it, but he wasn't exactly in the mood.

John was sure it had to do with the books here, but there were a lot of them. Too many, if he couldn't make sense of it soon. After looking at the amount of old books, he couldn't help the a feeling that the book he was looking for wasn't here.

"_I have something for you, Mr. Reese_."

"_A new number, Finch?"_

"_No!" Harold looked surprised at the man. "Why would you think I'm talking about a number, when I say that I have something for you?"_

_John tried to hide his smile by turning away. "Well, what else could it be? It's not Christmas or my birthday. You already gave me money, a job, access to several cars and even an apartment. So I assume it has something to do with the machine."_

_Finch was irritated. It had something to do with the machine, but he didn't plan on telling Reese about it. He would find out soon enough... _

_Harold honestly hoped it wouldn't be necessary too soon, but he had no doubt that another threat was waiting for him, because of the machine. It had never stopped since the day he had finished this thing, even after he was thought to be dead. Somehow, the greatest thing he had ever built and programmed, also was the most dangerous; like a curse._

"_Actually, it is something totally opposite to a computer or the machine." He took a small package out of the drawer and handed it to John. _

_The ex-op took it. He could feel a small box through the fine exclusive paper that had been used to wrap it. He opened the gift carefully. The expensive paper felt good between his fingers. His guess had been right; a dark blue box was revealed, covered with a soft precious fabric. John would never admit it, but he was excited. _

"_You're not going to propose, are you?" He teased the older man and had to hide another smile, when he rolled his eyes and turned away, obviously unable to find a proper answer to the silly question. _

_He opened the box to find a small black book that was nestled in ivy velvet. His eyes locked with Harold Finch's for a short moment before he laid the box and paper down and held the book in his hand. It was small, but had some weight. The binding was from a soft leather, the pages were premium gilt edged tissue paper, like some hymnbook. _

_A gold-print on the back of the book said "Favorite Quotes". John opened the book and there was a personal dedication._

"_What we believe says a lot about who we are. I hope this collection will tell you something more about who I am. _

_Trust and words don't come easy to me. Thank you for being my friend. _

_Harold"_

_John was stunned. Not only the inscription, but also all quotes in the book were handwritten by Harold. He was amazed, even touched._

_Reese had often wondered how Finch felt about him. Was he just a partner or an employee for him? This gift answered it. 'Thank you for being my friend'. It had been a long time since he had last felt this way, but he was caught off-guard and just didn't know what to say._

_Harold felt as uncomfortable as Reese, if not more. Relationships of any other kind than business weren't easy for him, almost impossible. He cleared his throat and looked nervously away from the younger man to his computer. "I think we have a new number."_

He needed his book. That meant he had to drive back to his place, come here again and worked on the code and the ma-

John ran to Harold's private room. He hadn't been in there often, but he had read in his book there just a few days ago, when the machine hadn't given a lot of numbers and Harold had been lying on his bed resting and drugged up with painkillers for his leg and back, because the constant rain had made it impossible for him to walk without his cane and even that had left him breathless and heart-racing after the short distance from one room to another. John had refused to leave him alone like this. He had been too worried about the older man.

There was the book. BoFQ4U meant nothing else, but Book of 'Favorite Quotes' for you! It was very easy for him to figure out that the first numbers were the pages. It took him a few minutes more to figure out that the letters were initials from the authors and the numbers in between were the words.

The first part of the code 85O6W was page 85 Oscar word 6 Wilde. He wrote the quotes down and marked the words with a yellow marker.

A thing is not necessarily **true** because a man dies for it. _Oscar Wilde_

Nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to **another person**. _Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (32SA12C13D)_

The internet is so big, so powerful and pointless that for some people it is a complete **substitute for** life. _Andrew Brown (24A18B19)_

Every improvement in **communication** makes the bore more terrible. _Frank Colby Moore (53FC4M)_

False **face** must hide what the false heart doth know. _William Shakespeare (71W2S)_

Some have been thought **brave** because they were afraid to run away. _Thomas Fuller (45T5F)_

Thinking is the talking of the **soul** with itself. _Plato (717P)_

If **someone** wants a sheep, then that means that he exists. _Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (79A2dSE)_

John sat down by the computer and typed the words he had found.

_true another person substitute for communication face brave soul someone_

**Our mutual friend**

_Charles Dickens_

**Quote**

"Think John, think!" He was sure he knew it, but wasn't sure, if he would remember every word. Again, Harold would know.

"Yes! You never fail me, Finch!" The quote was in the book, of course, and he gave it to the computer.

_Electric communication will never be a substitute for the face of someone who with their soul encourages another person to be brave and true. _

**Command is unknown. **

A few seconds later...

**Admin still in danger! **

He couldn't help himself. He had to grin about it. The annoying remark was _so _Harold Finch.

Reese looked at the book and back at the screen for a minute that felt like a day. He didn't make any mistakes. He tried something else.

_31C2781012161718192224D_

**Type of emergency?**

_Admin in danger_

Suddenly the screen changed and he saw a video of a dark street and a man that limped. Harold Finch. He didn't know how his friend had managed it, but he could actually hear all they said.

He was angry, when he saw how the boys treated the older man with disrespect and made him finally fall. But the video didn't stop there. He saw how they were beating and kicking him, saw the blade going in his leg and a few minutes later in the other side of it. When the knife found another goal somewhere in the back of the hurt man, that was now motionless, John felt several emotions rising inside of him.

There was fear that he would be too late, but he hoped that the machine would have told him, if Harold was already dead. The guys pulled the limb figure up and brought him to a dark spot that the camera didn't reach. They came back in view and left the place. Harold was nowhere to be seen.

What made him fast and acting cold was pure hate for what was said and done to the only man that believed in him. Nothing would stop him from going there and find Harold Finch.

No matter what he would find, someone had to pay. He would know soon how high the price was going to be for the attackers.


	4. Anger, grief, a guilty witness and hope

**I'm sorry it took me so long to update this, but I was tired from all the holiday stress, sick and moody. I had to stop one of my medications and wait for a whole week to start the new one after taking the last. It made me crazy, no nice person to be around during those times, believe me;)**

**So, that was the official reason. The true one is that the machine kept me busy. With John and Harold taking a break to act in our little story here, it was up to me to take care of the machine and the irrelevants. That's what our society has become - you have to pay the characters in the fiction nowadays, I'll wait for the day Bugs Bunny, Lightning McQueen or Shrek have their own managers and are paid. This world is scary - I'm not sure that terrorists are the scariest thing out there.**

**Anyway, I'm drifting... You better forget about the machine again. Don't wanna threat or scare you, but it's unhealthy to know about the machine, you know that:)  
**

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Reese had a hard time to stay calm. Panic wouldn't help anyone. It wasn't easy to drive fast enough to get to his friend as soon as possible and not too fast either, because he couldn't risk to get stopped by the police.

He passed the place, where he had picked up his boss early in the morning. He hadn't asked what Finch had done there, not with words, it was more a questioning look. Finch hadn't bothered to answer the unvoiced question, of course. He barely answered the spoken ones. John was wondering, if whatever his partner had done here in the morning, was the reason for his trouble now.

There was not time to think about that, it had to wait. He stopped the car close to the camera that had given him the terrible pictures of the attack on Harold's life. John left the car and ran to the spot that the camera couldn't reach.

His heart was beating too fast. He knew the man he was looking for would be lying there in his own blood, probably hurting and most likely unconscious. It was okay though, he was here now, things were going to be okay, he'd get help, a doctor. He sensed he was close to him now and he felt a short moment of relief. Then he came there and it was worse than he had thought.

Watching the video had lead him here, with the hope and some sort of assurance that he could make it in time. But now... John's heart dropped. His legs were weak and he leaned on a wall for some support. Panic was knocking hard on his door, he didn't know how much longer he could keep it down. It was like losing his life, again. The life that he had been given back, not so long ago. This time, their would be no rescue. He would be more alone than ever before and even though Finch would want him to go ahead working with the machine, he wasn't sure he could do it – not without him. Not without the machines soul and conscience, not without it's voice to him, the voice he grown so fond of.

John Reese felt broken, again. He just wanted to get a bottle, maybe two, of some pretty good stuff and drown his sorrow, the feeling that had put a grip on his heart. This pain that didn't start more than a few seconds ago, but was there to stay until his dying day. Desperation filled him and he moaned loudly to release some of the hurt that blacked him inside.

He didn't know how long he had been this way, but probably just a minute or two that felt like a lifetime. He was going to pass out, his consciousness was drifting and when he nearly hit the floor for real instead of just wishing so, his mind used this moment to bring him back to the here and now.

What he had found was nothing. Literally nothing. The shock had just hit him so unexpected that the thought of being too late had washed over him like a whole ocean. With his mind clearer now, he felt new hope. That he didn't find him could mean that he had already called for help. Well, if so he would make sure that the stubborn man would live and then he'd kill him with his own hands for not calling John in the first place.

Anyway, if his friend had been here, he was gone by now.

Gone? Not likely. John was sure that Harold hadn't been able to go anywhere after the attack. If someone would have called an ambulance and the police, he was sure he would know by now. Fusco and Carter weren't his only sources. Most of them were even unknown to Finch and they didn't know about his boss either. He trusted Harold with his life, but he didn't trust anyone else enough to let them have any kind of contact to his friend. Whatever he did, it was always his number one priority to keep the man safe.

Reese looked around to find any hints of the fight. He left the dark spot and kept searching and there it was. Blood. Too much all along the way. He felt sick. He had seen a lot of blood in his life, but had never reacted to it like this before.

His eyes wandered around until they finally focused on a small object that had been caught by a gully cover. He walked there with heavy legs and got down on his knees. His hand was shaking, when he picked the glasses up. Harold's glasses; or what was left. It was broken and bloody. John felt dizzy, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Rage took over. He got up again and looked into the camera like it was the enemy.

"Where is he?" His voice was calm, but dangerous. The camera didn't respond, of course. Even if it could, John was sure the only person it would bother to talk to was Harold Finch.

But John felt the machine watching him anyway. Physically. It was scanning him.

"Find him!" It was a deep and loud growl.

A man came out of the house. "Are you crazy, man?"

John didn't even look at him. "Go back inside and stay out of my way." The dangerous calm voice again.

"Or what?" The man came closer. "I don't like strangers hanging around my house. You better leave now or I'm gonna make you."

John turned his face to the man's direction. "How did you know, that I'm here? I wasn't loud."

"I always know what's going on here. I have a lot of time and I spend it to keep the place safe and clean."

"Here was a fight a few hours ago..."

"Yeah, I know. I ate my dinner, when it happened. Heard the fight and saw part of it through my window."

"You know!? I'm looking for the man that was attacked. Do you know which hospital he was brought to?"

"I didn't even know there was an ambulance."

"What? I'm sure the police would have ordered one."

"Which police?"

"Are you telling me you didn't call them?" Reese felt rage rising again. He was actually glad, but angry that the man hadn't called help for the victim. Not just any victim. Harold Finch. John's Harold.

"Listen, the guy was well dressed, expensive looks, didn't belong here, shouldn't have been here that late. I could tell he wasn't poor, so it didn't hurt him to give the boys some money. They just made some fun of him, scared him a bit, maybe pushed him around or kicked him, nothing serious."

John was fast. The man didn't see it coming. A fist connected with his chin and then he found himself pushed against the same wall that Harold Finch had made contact with earlier.

"Do you see the blood over there? It's his. He helps people, even failures like you." John hit the man again. "They brought him there!" His finger pointed at the spot that the camera didn't reach. "What happened then?"

"Dunno. I didn't watch them the whole time. I told you it was my dinner time." He finally realized that he was in trouble, when John's gun pointed at his temple. "Hey man, calm down. I told you all I know. I went out a bit after they were gone and pulled the dumpster into the courtyard."

"Let me in!" John reacted fast. He followed the guy, still aiming at him with the gun. He wasn't here to kill, not now, but he was ready to do so and honestly, he was in the perfect mood.

The man opened an old door and turned around to Reese. The fist that hit him now send him to darkness. John didn't take the time to catch him. He let the man fall to the ground, ran to the dumpster and opened it. John's heart stopped, when his hands found a body beneath a layer of trash. He grabbed the man, pulled him out and carried him to the car, where he laid him down on the ground to check for injuries. "Harold? Finch, talk to me!" There was no response the smaller man was unconscious didn't react to anything Reese tried.

Harold's pulse was weak, his face a swollen bulk, an open wound on the back of his head was still bleeding slowly. His shirt and blazer, or what was left, were covered in dirt, dried and fresh blood. Countless bruises were all over his torso. The worst were on the back. "Fuck!" John's fist connected with the passengers door. The pain helped him to focus again. There was a jungle of bruises along Harold's spine, where heavy shoes and boots had hit him. John wasn't a doctor, but he could see that something was very wrong with his spine. He hoped it wasn't as bad as it looked.

He took his own shirt and tried to bandage the bleeding stab wound at Harold's side, before continuing the check up. The trouser was in the same shape as the shirt and blazer. The left ankle looked out of place and was swollen. Blood was running down from his knee. He could see both stab wounds. It made him furious and he took it out on the car again. He bandaged those wounds as well and called one of the doctors he had met through Finch. He arranged everything and concentrated on his barely alive friend again. "Hold on Harold, I'm here now. I'll get you help and you will be brand new. Don't worry."

_'Don't worry?' _He must be kidding. Harold was unable to worry about anything at all right now and considering the pain he would probably be in, if he was awake, John was grateful. But the ex-CIA-op was more than worried, he was terrified. He could deal with almost everything. But he was sure he wasn't strong enough to deal with Harold's d-...

No, he couldn't even think about it. He refused to believe that the machine could fail them, he refused to believe that he was too late to safe the one important life, when he had saved worthless criminal subjects several times.

Finch was seated on the passengers side and John pulled him closer, so that he could hold him, while driving. Sure, he was worried about any further damage to the injured man's spine, but the man was too cold from blood loss and he couldn't risk that. Also it was a life-line. One that was hopefully working both ways. He pressed a cloth on the wound at the back of his partners head and drove to one of the private clinics. He didn't care about any speed limits this time. He never stopped talking to Harold, telling him that he was going to be okay. Truth to be told, he was probably more talking to convince himself.


	5. I need you

**I know it took long again, but I'm here and I brought a new chapter with me. I wasn't so sure about it - hope it isn't too emotional, but I somehow felt the chapter needed it, given the things that are going on in it. Those of you that wait for John's revenge, will have to be a little patient, but I promise it will be worth it! I, too, want that they get what they deserve. I'm not sure yet, if Reese will be able to keep his temper enough under control this time. Will he bring them to Mexico? Would that really satisfy his need for justice. I have some ideas, but things are still somewhat open and I thought I'd give you a chance to tell me what you think about it.**

Should John let them live and send them to Mexico, should he first show them what he's able to do or should he just get rid of them?

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The roads were dark, but the first rays of light would come soon. The traffic was normal for this time of the night. Everything was the way it always had been. Nothing had changed for the city and it's residents. But in the middle of all the normalcy a tragedy was taking place. The residents didn't know about it, but the outcome of it, could end in a little catastrophe for some of them, that were the future irrelevant.

Reese held the man all the way to one of the secret clinics. He didn't dare to let go of him, afraid that the touch was the only thing that kept Finch alive, kept him staying with John.

He could be faster with both hands on the wheel, but he decided that a minute or two wouldn't make a difference anymore. No, the physical contact was of much more importance. It gave warmth, it soothed and it let the badly injured man know that he wasn't alone in this. John wished deep inside that he would have a chance to tell his friend, he would never again be alone in his life, no matter what struggles and problems would wait for them.

They finally reached the unprepossessing house that hid the clinic in it. The place where a doctor was waiting for them. He felt a sudden calmness. The doctor would do anything to get Harold through this. Reese would see to it. He'd get his boss back. The calmness gave him some new energy. He actually managed a smile, when he brought the unconscious man inside the building.

This smile earned him a look from the doctor that said 'his lost his mind, how can he be happy about his friend hurt?'. But he didn't care, what did the doctor know about this growing confidence inside of him, that everything was going to be okay?

He still smiled as the doctor told him that Finch was too injured and that he would be best off in a hospital with a lot of staff and possibilities to take care of every thinkable complication. "No, I'm sure your care will be enough, if necessary we call a specialist, if you need assistance."

The smile on his face was still there, when she and the hired nurse threw nervous glances at each other after the patient was hooked up to several machines and all vitals were beyond worse. "Don't worry, he's a fighter. He'll be okay."

It was the first time that he not only thought, but also said, Harold Finch was a fighter. But was he? It never occurred to John that he didn't know, but he assumed one had to be a fighter to go through all and everything the man had been through to come out as strong as he was. Harold was handicaped, yes, but he was stable, a strong person with a strong focused mind. He knew how to take care of himself. But he hadn't had a chance this time. A few men overstepped an invisible boarder and Reese was going to let them pay for it, but first...

"He lost too much blood, Mr. Reese!" The doctor still tried to convince him to send him to a 'real' hospital. Partly because she would have felt safer, but a big part of her just didn't want to be there. Not in this horrible house, that was so big and lonely that it scared her, but most of all not around those two men. She knew there was no other choice for her, if she wanted her life to stay like it was, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"Then make sure you do something about it, you're a doctor. I'm sure he isn't your first patient with a serious problem." The smile didn't go away.

"We have to perform surgery or he's gonna die. But he's so weak, I don't know, if..."

"He's gonna make it through this, just do your job!" He still smiled at her, but she saw something had changed in his eyes. She was sure to see a slight thread in them.

They were preparing the OR and Harold for the surgery. It was the time that the older man chose to wake up for a short moment. He screamed. The fear in the scream was something John could handle, he was by his friends side in an instant and held his hand, took his chin in his other hand so the patients eyes were focused on him. "It's okay, Harold, I'm here, you're safe!"

Finch couldn't think, his mind was filled with confusion, fear and pain. Oh God, this pain was driving him insane! He relaxed some, let John's voice calm him, tried to smile back, but the pain was overwhelming.

All the confidence John had felt was gone as suddenly as it had come, when Harold's body convulsed in pure agony, leaving him too breathless to get a scream out that could release some of the hurt.

"Harold!" John's smile vanished and panic was written all over his face now. "Try to breathe through it, breathe with me, okay?"

Finch heard him, but he couldn't do anything. His mind shut down and just a few seconds later, he lost consciousness again. But the pain didn't stop and the convulsions went on.

It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore, John Reese, the soldier and ex-op, broke. His friend, best friend, had passed out, but the pain was still intense. He had seen Finch in pain too many times, but this was worse than anything he had seen before. The unconscious and unresponsive man's face was tensed with agony. "Plea.." John's voice was only a whisper. "Doc give him something for his pain!"

Dr. Julia Tomaz was surprised about the pleading tone and how fast the confident smile had become a threatening smile just to be gone at all now. She didn't know what to think and didn't move.

John didn't notice it at first, he was too paralyzed, holding Finch's hand and watching his body fight the pain. But then another painful scream came off the older man's lips, while he didn't wake up. John Reese looked up for the first time since what seemed like hours. The doctor wasn't moving. He reached out and squeezed her arm strongly. "Help him!"

The growl in the voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She finally got some painkillers and a sedative for her patient. It would work fast given through his IV. She told the nurse to be ready for the surgery in five minutes. "I don't know, if he's gonna make it. I'll give you a few minutes before taking him in."

Dr. Tomaz left the room and Reese bent over to put his mouth against Harold's ear. "You have to come out of this alive. I can't work for the machine without you. I won't be able to keep this life, if you just go and leave." John closed his eyes. "I need you, my friend."

That was it, the first time he had ever called him his 'friend' aloud. There was no way to take it back, though the other man probably hadn't heard it. "I'll be waiting here for you, Harold", he whispered, when the nurse came in to take the man away from him. John glanced at his friend until the door to the OR was closed. He sat down on the small couch that Finch had let brought here a few weeks ago and did as he had promised, he waited.

Well, he waited, but nobody ever said, he had to be patient. And by all means, he could be very patient with someone under surveillance, but in this case, waiting made him more restless with every passing minute, let alone the two hours that had already passed. He was just going up and down the room again, when he heard turmoil in the OR. Turmoil wasn't a good sign. Panic was rising – again.

His first impulse was to run inside the OR to see what was going on. He knew it would be wrong; he had to stay put and wait for the doctor to tell him what had happened. There was only one thing that the hectic in the other room could mean. John knew it. An OR was a quiet place, people there worked concentrated, lives were at risk. Loud voices and noises meant there was a problem.

Something had gone wrong during the surgery of a bleeding, weak and badly injured Harold. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew that all was over. She wouldn't have to tell him, but she would. She'd come out of the OR and tell him his friend had died. Had left him alone with the horrible emptiness and grief, that he would never be able to overcome.

So the second, much stronger impulse was to run away, to leave before she could come out and tell him what he already knew. There was probably some rational part inside of him that knew, running away wouldn't change the facts. But, truth to be told, the lost person he was now, was convinced that, if nobody was able to tell him about Harold's death, it wouldn't be true.

John finally decided to run, but he soon realized that he couldn't. He was down on his knees, probably since he had first realized that the doctor had lost Harold on the table.

Before he could think about his next step, the nurse came out of the OR. "Doctor Tomaz sent me to let you know, that we got him back and that you are supposed to wait here." Her exact words, that the nurse didn't want to repeat, had been: "Don't dare to leave me with your shit! I don't care about the guy. I'll leave him open like he is, if you don't stop being a baby about him."

The nurse knew she had meant it, but knew it wouldn't be the right time to let the man in the suit know. She felt a bit ashamed, but pretty much thought the way the doctor did. Just because she had made a few major mistakes in her old country, didn't mean she wanted to be used to work for those two men whenever they needed her. She had stopped working as a nurse a long time ago, because she didn't feel like caring for ugly old men like the one in the OR. But her husband didn't know about the things she had done in her past and if she wanted to keep him and his money, she had no choice.

She went back to the OR and the first time in years John Reese considered praying. He didn't do it, he wasn't a man of God – not anymore, but he thought about talking to him and that alone was a big step for the man in his dark suit and white shirt that were both covered in blood that wasn't his, but was not less necessary for him to survive.


	6. Sencha Green tea

**So, my dear reviewers, some of you had a problem with the medical staff's behavior. I had been planning to explain it some more anyway, but I'm glad you let me know, so I decided to go a bit further into it. I hope that at least the doctors harshness will be more understandable after you read the new chapter. I still have to come back to the nurse, but somehow - you just need one 'bitch' in the story and working for someone as a sort of punishment isn't suppossed to make you happy, so why would one be too nice?;) I'll try to keep her better under control, though we just have to wait, if she's gonna like it.**

**I'm very glad for your reviews. And I hope the sixth chapter will be more your 'taste' than the one before. Thank you, again:)**

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_The scream let him look up in shock. He knew that voice. It often was the only thing that kept him sane through day and night. Instead of the normal calmness, teasing and even the certain distance, all it showed was fear, pain, helplessness – in two words: pure horror. _

_He had been looking for the man behind the voice for many hours. But it had been too dark and quiet. So he had been running and stumbling all over the roads trying to find a hint that hadn't been there. _

_John found new hope now. He found Harold. He saw him, not far away, in a fight with several other men. No, he wasn't in a fight. He was being attacked, beaten and stabbed to death. "Let the man go!" he growled, but no sound came out of his mouth. _

_But Finch had heard him. He looked in John's eyes, asking, no, pleading for help. For rescue. Then... He finally went down, kicked in his back by one of the guys surrounding him. _

_John Reese struggled to get closer to his boss, but with every step he took, Harold seemed to drift away three more. No matter how hard he tried, there was no way to come near those men and their bleeding victim. _

_Finch stopped calling for help first, he went quiet and not many moments after, his body followed and he went limp. _

_As soon as the guys ran away, John was able to get to his partner. He was fast and almost dived at Harold's side. "Finch?" He shook him. "Harold, look at me!"_

_The man did. He looked at him with half-opened eyes. It was only a second, but there was sadness in them – or was it hurt? "You're too late. Why?" His eyes shut closed and the last word lingered on his lips for a while._

"_I'm sorry, Harold! Wake up!" He shook the unresponsive man again. "Wake up!" Finch was dead and John..._

….woke up. It took him a second to realize that he wasn't shaking his partner, but the doctor was shaking him to get to him through the nightmare he obviously had had. And she was the one repeating to wake up.

"You've fallen asleep." Her tone was a bit softer than before. The stress had fallen from her, when she had finished the stressful surgery and had brought the older man to his room. She still didn't like to be there, but she was glad she could safe the man. Well, honestly more out of fear of what would happen, if she had failed, but also because she liked the younger man a tiny bit. Who wouldn't? He was handsome, like a gentleman.

He looked at her, confused for a moment. The chair he sat on was comfortable enough to take a nap, close to Harold, who was lying on the bed. The room was dark with some soft light, so the patient wouldn't be disturbed in his rest, or his eyes hurt, when he would wake up. Soft and even noises came from the machines that controlled his boss' vitals, other somatic functions and helped him breathing.

"I sent Lara home, she'll be back in a few hours. If you want to get some breakfast or run some errands, you should do it now. I have to be in the hospital in three hours and need to drive home first." She saw Reese's worried look at Mr. Finch. Again, she felt guilty for her behavior earlier. Dr. Tomaz had been frustrated, and still was, that she had to work for them again. Mr. Finch had promised her last time, that she would never hear from him again, though he had told her he'd always keep an eye on her. He knew things about her, nobody else knew, and it was important for her to keep it this way.

The handsome mans eyes were focused on the still form of the older man. Both hands were closed around cold fingers.

"He won't wake up for a while, you should go as long as I'm here."

John looked up at her. Tired, worried, sad and a little thankful. "You're probably right. I won't be away for too long." He whispered something in Harold's ear that she couldn't hear, before he turned back to her and got up. "If anything happens", he swallowed hard "call me."

"Of course. Just try to be back in time."

His eyes rested at his friend again, unwilling to let go. "I won't be gone for long." She had a feeling that he addressed it more to her patient than to her.

John left the building. It was still early, the wind was cold, but it helped to clear his mind. He didn't know where he wanted to go so he just kept walking.

His mind drifted back to Harold Finch. The man had been white as a sheet after surgery and still a few minutes ago. He couldn't remember to have ever seen his boss this vulnerable. It almost made his heart break for his partner. And for himself, 'cause honestly, what was John Reese without Harold Finch? He needed the man as the other man needed him. They made each other whole, they were better, stronger together. Each of them completed his friend, gave them a content that they had lost along their ways long before they had first met.

Finch was supposed to be Reese's backup, the voice in his ears, save at the library, away from the numbers as far and often as possible. He had been out working on cases with John, if things were too much or busy for one, but it had bee rare. John didn't want him out there, he wanted the man in safety. Harold didn't like weapons, let alone guns, so he was an easy target for anyone. John couldn't stop worrying about his boss, when the man wasn't sitting in front of his computer. It made it hard to focus on the case sometimes. He'd call him more often than usually.

With all the things he did to take care of Finch, to keep him from any possible danger, how could something like that had happen? John sighed, he didn't know. Wasn't it ironic that the billionaire had come out of most of the field works unharmed, just to end up in this life-threatening shape? Because he had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Because he was handicapped, because some guys had thought his bad limp gave them the right to hurt the man verbally and physically in the worst possible way. Because he had been alone in a dark street, late in the evening, in a part of the city that wasn't too safe.

Yes, he'd been alone, because John hadn't insisted to drive him to his car. Sure, Harold hadn't wanted him to, but John always insisted to make sure the man was safe. Why hadn't he this time? What the hell had driven him to let the man go to such a dangerous place in the darkness, alone? He had made a major mistake and his friend had to pay the price.

They had shared an amazing peaceful, beautiful dinner. It had made him feel content, calm. That had probably been the reason. For a little while he had forgotten about the dangerous world out there, had enjoyed the taste of a normal life. Now Harold's life was at risk. He didn't know, if he could ever forgive himself for the horror Finch had gone through. What if he died?

It took him a while, but he finally stopped at a place that was as common to him as the library. He ordered tea, Sencha Green Tea, Finch's favorite. He ordered it like every morning since months. If Harold should wake up, wrong, _when_ Harold would wake up, John wanted to be sure that the man had his tea. Though he probably wouldn't be able to drink it anyway, but this thought was pushed away for now.

John hurried to get back to the clinic. He decided to do some more research about the men that had attacked and nearly killed his partner. Maybe still would be successful. He needed to find out who they were and decide what to do with them. It was the first time in a while that he reconsidered doing more harm than the times before, while finishing cases. Whatever, it was gonna be hard for him to keep his temper.

There was another thing he had to do. He had to find the doctor Finch had planned to hire after the last time Dr. Tomaz had worked for him. He didn't want her to be around the patient, though she had tried to make up for it a bit earlier. Finch had promised her she hadn't to work for him anymore and it wasn't his fault that the promise hadn't been kept. So he would tell her to not come back, unless he wouldn't find out who was supposed to do her job.

Harold never broke any promises. John had failed taking care of him. He would make sure he wouldn't fail to keep Harold's promise. The man was a man of honor and it was John's responsibility that it stayed this way.


	7. A seed that becomes a flower

**I'm sorry for taking so much time again, but here is another chapter. The action hasn't started yet, but is soon to come. John starts taking care of things in this chapter. I'm like Harold, slowly but intense... I'm not quite sure, if that's a good thing, though.**

**Harold's injuries are named - most of them, but we won't know the whole truth just yet. I'm sorry, if there are now or later on mistakes in the medical part of this story. I try to research, but I'm not a doctor, I work in a tax advisers office (I'm not slow in my job) and the people I know, well... the closest jobs is neighbour who's a cleaner in a doctors office or teacher for kids with special needs. If any of you may know more about the injuries or something like that, I'm glad to receive a private message about it:)**

**Anyway, I hope you like it, I started it late, I finished it today - again late and read it several times now before publishing it. I'm tired now, but happy to have finished this chapter, with the new one already formed in my head. **

**And I have to thank all my reviewers again. I always try to sent them a private message, but if I didn't lately, I'm really sorry and promise to make up for it soon:)**

**I also want to thank those of you that added my story to one of their favorites or follow it, you're sweet.**

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"Thank you, Mr. Reese." The doctor actually smiled at him. She was not only glad, but relieved that she didn't have to come back to the house again, to those probably dangerous men. "Don't forget to find Dr. Manning. I'm sure he can help him."

She looked at the patient for a last time. "Mr. Finch himself had told me to call this specialist, when his help would ever be needed and it's more than just needed now." John didn't answer, just kept staring at the man in the bed. "I guess he knows this doctor." She added, because the silence was disturbing to her.

Dr. Tomaz left with her last word. John had already found Dr. Phillips in Finch's contacts earlier and had contacted him. The physician would be here in about two hours.

Dr. Tomaz had told him, that his boss would also need a specialist for the damage that had been done to the patients knee and especially his spine. Just imagining that his friend would never be able to walk or move again made the tough man sick. He had thankfully taken her advise and had called Dr. Manning. The man obviously knew a lot about Finch's special needs and had promised to come in late this afternoon.

In earlier days he would have been excited to finally meet a person that could tell him more about his boss' old injuries, but that wasn't important anymore, not with the older man's life at risk.

Reese took the file that he had set up on the attackers and sat down on the chair beside Finch's bed. He studied every detail of their faces, their body language, he wanted to make sure that he wouldn't forget anything about them.

Harold Finch, the very private and secretive man, was even quieter now and it was their fault. Yes, he didn't want them to get away with it easily. _You better run before I come and get you._

After reading through all information he had collected about them, he got up, a few feet away from the patient and called Joss Carter. "I need your help."

"What, no 'Hello Detective' or 'How are you today, Carter?' You sound like your strange fr..."

"Listen, Detective. I need your help on a few guys. I sent you an e-mail with their names and pictures. I want to know all about them. I don't have time for any discussions about it!"

"Why isn't your private genius looking them up?" She was a strong, independent woman, she didn't give up easily.

"He is hurt." John's voice changed, it was very soften, almost broken. "They attacked him."

"Oh, my God, John! I'm so sorry. Is it serious?"

"Yes, he might die." _He won't! _

"What happened?"

"They've almost beaten him to death, stabbed him and left him in a dumpster to die!" The bitter tone changed to a rage that Carter had never heard in his voice before.

"Fusco and I'll take care of them. Just stay with your boss."

"No, I want Lionel to keep them under surveillance, you to get me all the information I need and then I'm gonna take care of them myself."

"John, don't do anything stupid!"

"I'm gonna do what I have to and it's better nobody tries try to stop me!" He yelled at her, he knew he shouldn't, but he wasn't in the mood to care, and he was actually meaning every letter of every word.

Joss Carter was quiet for a while. With nobody, he meant her. He was too kind to threaten her directly, but she knew humans, in this case, him well enough. She wanted to say more, try to talk him out of this revenge state, but she knew it wouldn't help any.

Also, he had never talked much about the relationship that he and Finch shared, she knew that it was a friendship that was different to anything she had ever heard of or shared with another person. There wasn't much she could do right now. "Okay, we'll call you, when we know more."

He didn't hear her last words anymore. He had ended the call, when he had seen the injured man move and was at the bed in an instant. "Finch!"

John held his hand and pressed him gently down on the bed. He had been wrong, the man wasn't moving, his body was convulsing. "Harold, come on, don't do this to me." _Not with no doctor or the nurse around! _

His words seemed to help some, the convulsions slowed down. "I'm here, Finch, you're safe!" The vitals went a little crazy. "Please, you have to calm down, Harold, calm down for me." John Reese was in panic again. "I can't lose you", he finally admitted. The convulsing stopped slowly, but constantly until the man laid still again. "Thank you, Harold, thank you."

John rubbed his eyes. He wasn't surprised to find them slightly wet. Well, maybe he was, he hadn't thought that he would ever be able to cry another tear after he had lost Jessica. But that had been before the unconscious man had come into his life, suddenly with the impact of a bad car crash and then slowly, peacefully like a seed that would become a flower one day.

He sat down on his chair again. There on the nightstand was a letter from Dr. Tomaz for Dr. Phillips with the diagnoses she had made. He reached for it and started reading.

The ex CIA man felt sick again. To know Harold Finch was in a serious condition was bad enough, but to read it made things more real and so much worse as far as his knowledge about medicine aloud he translated her words into:

A severe concussion, a big head wound, a slightly broken nose, two teeth lost, a torn muscle in the neck, three broken ribs, a slightly broken one, several bruises, cuts, a few bleeding gashes, severe injuries on his knee and its muscles, the leg that had hurt since the accident was now badly broken, severely bruised kidneys and a life-threatening stab wound that had hurt the right kidney and the liver, several bruises and swellings along his spine and all of that excluding the damage to his spine that she couldn't diagnose for sure.

It was way too much for one person to fight. Reese knew this, he had learned to be realistic the hard way. His past, his life had made him this kind of person, but he refused to see it this way now. Harold wasn't your normal person, he'd make it and he had John, that meant he wouldn't have to go through it alone. No, the tough killer machine and gentleman would do anything that needed to be done to help Harold Finch to recover physically and mentally. And he would be patient and gently. He was going to be all that his partner asked for, because that was the kind of man John Reese was now, the kind of man Harold Finch had made him.

He looked at the pictures of the guys again that had put his friend through a horrible nightmare. After Carter and Fusco would have done their job, he would track those guys down, with or without the machine, and then... may God help them, because he certainly wouldn't forget, nor forgive, never, even if it would take him months, years or all his life. He was going to take everything away those guy had, like they had tried to take away everything he had left in this cold, dark and lonely world.


	8. Members only and the gift of life

**Okay here are a few facts - I still don't anything of POI, eventhough I'd be happy to have both men in my life. Harold Finch for the beautiful person he is and John Reese for the obvious reasons, I let your imagintation decide what those might be:)**

**I'm sorry, it took so long to come back to this story. I love the story, but I had a lot on my mind lately and didn't find the right time to start the following chapter. But a few of my great readers and reviewers came back to me with nice private messages. It gave me the motivation to go back to writing again. I'm really grateful for this and can't thank you enough.**

**I have to admit that I'm not so sure about this chapter, but I'll be back on the right track with the next chapter:) Anyway, I still hope you like the newest turn of the story, because, honestly, it isn't as bad I think it is:)**

**Enjoy and take care of yourself, don't worry too much, our friends are watching us.**

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Detectives Jocelyn Carter and Lionel Fusco had lunch together and talked about the call from the man in the suit. They both agreed that they should keep an eye on John Reese and talk him out of this revenge-seeking state of mind. But in their very own thoughts both of them knew, that it would be impossible to do it, nobody could stop the man. He was more than just an ex CIA or an ordinary soldier, he was strong, physically and mentally, he was intelligent, fast and dangerous, but most of all he was a man that wanted to see blood for what had been done to his closest to family, Harold Finch. John Reese was a man with a grim determination. So, being realistic, there was nothing the detectives could do.

"Glasses is a strange guy, I still don't trust him, but I hope he's gonna be okay. I've seen suits deal with criminals that didn't mean anything to him, not funny, don't like to imagine him, when he's out of control."

"He won't be out of control. He's no headless killer, Fusco!" Carter knew better, but didn't want to say or think it aloud.

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While the detectives were discussing him, John sat close to the bed. He hardly left his partner's side. It was hard for him to see Harold like this, but it was even harder to be away from him, when he didn't know, if the man would make it through another hour, let alone another day.

But the nurse and the new doctor were there now and he used the time to go and get a tea for his friend and a coffee for himself. Not without receiving the promise though, that he would be called as soon as there was any change in Finch's condition.

The finally better weather and the air outside helped him to clear his mind, sort out his thoughts. They still lingered around the handicapped man's condition, but he was more able to focus on other questions as why Harold Finch had been in that dark street all by himself in the first place.

"What have you done there? Why did you go there all by yourself? Why didn't you want me with you?" He had to lean on a wall for a moment, a sudden wave of grief washed over him and left him wobbly on his legs. "You just can't go on and keep everything about your actions a secret. It's going to kill you, Harold." John didn't care about the people that looked at him like he had lost his marbles. "It's killing _me_."

He walked ahead without a conscious thought. He passed streets, people, police cars, took a cab and finally stopped where Harold had been attacked. He looked around, down the street where his friend had come from before the guys had joined him. It wouldn't help to get a hold of those gangsters, but it would certainly help him to find out, what his boss had done there.

He didn't have to walk far, maybe five, or in Finch's case, ten minutes from where he had found his bleeding friend. There was, what once had been a store, but now it didn't even have a name on it, the windows were almost black, too dark to look inside. It was closed and it looked abandoned, but there was something about the place... He didn't know why, but he was sure that Harold had been here.

When John didn't find out more about the place, he turned around to leave. It was then, that he saw the tiny sign in the corner of one window. "Members only" it said. He smiled. Why wasn't he surprised to find out that his boss had been in such a secretive place?

The trip hadn't brought him anywhere so far, but he was determined to find out what kind of club Harold was in and what their business was. He hoped to find out more once he was back at the bedside that was his home since... since the moment, that had changed everything.

He was deep in his thoughts, taking the same way back, that he had come from. Something hit his side hard and he was in a defensive pose in an instant. A young man looked irritated at him. "Sorry man, didn't mean to ran into you, but I was distracted and didn't see you."

John scanned the guy. The smile on his face wasn't genuine, he was obviously trying to stay out of trouble, but thinking that the man in this suit wasn't any problem. He felt stronger than he was and he probably knew it. His eyes betrayed him, Reese saw the slight fear in them and smiled dangerously back at the guy. "No problem."

The man nodded and turned to walk away, but John Reese grabbed him from behind and pushed him into the next available corner. "How did it feel to kick and beat him almost to death?"

Surprised eyes looked at him, before understanding washed over the man's face. "W- we didn't... I didn't do anything to him. Dunno what you're talking about."

John's fist connected several times with the guy's chin. "Really? What, if I tell you that I know everything about you and what part you had in attacking him? "

The guy started laughing all of a sudden. "You're talking about that cripple? Man, what is it to you what happened to that gimp?"

John felt his self-control swaying. He remembered every scene of the attack that included this guy. He had been the most harmless, but he had added some of Harold's injuries. John Reese's knee connected with the man's ribs until a few broke and the guy gasped in pain. "Just tell me why!? He didn't do anything to you!."

"I.. it wasn't my idea. He walked down the street like he was better than us. And he wouldn't let us walk by, like he owned everything. The arrogant crip w-"

John didn't give him any further chance to talk about his best and only friend like this. His fists and kicks knocked the man down, bleeding and moaning. He stopped, when he felt the man's consciousness fading. He knelt down beside him, brought his mouth close to the guy's ear: "I gave you all the treatment my friend received from you. And I let you live, a chance he didn't get from you, bastard!" John got up, his left foot went up and down on the others face, his shoe broke the guy's nose and he finally laid still, unconscious.

Reese took his cell phone. "I found the guy that did the least to hurt Finch. Come and get him, Lionel, and don't let him talk to anyone, before I tell you it's okay." John gave the detective the address. "And Fusco," his voice deepened to a threat "if he warns his friends, I'll hold you personally responsible for it."

It wasn't long after, that he received the message, that Harold Finch's condition had taken a change for the worse. John had to fight back the rage that told him to get back and shoot the man he had just left, the only thing keeping him from doing so, was the urge to be at his partner's side in his time of need.


	9. Always, Mr Reese

**Okay, here's the deal. Lara, the not so nice nurse, is still there and she does what she's doing best - being a bitch. But you will see that all of that will come to an end that will be satisfying and tell us more about her behaviour. (yes, there it was again, the British English, that happens, if you type before thinking) It will just take some time to go there, but not too long anymore, 'cause I can't stand her so close to my sweet Harold... eh I mean to John's Harold Finch. **

**So no worries, be patient and you will find out what you want to know and even things you might not want to:)**

* * *

Harold Finch woke, dizzy, confused as to where he was, alone and most of all hurting like hell. He didn't have it in him to speak up, so his voice was barely above a whisper. "Mr. Reese?" He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through a new wave of pain – it wasn't very successful though. "John?"

But there was no answer and when he opened his eyes, he was still by himself. That couldn't be right. It was impossible, he was surrounded by machines and tubes, some of them seemed to went into his body. He figured out, that he was probably in one of his own private clinics, so staff was supposed to be around.

"Hello?" The pain became close to unbearable, he needed some medicine, 'cause breathing through it wasn't enough anymore. He still got no answer and he felt panic rising, again, a panic attack, like he had felt, when...

"_We want to see you run!" Pain everywhere, words spoken to hurt him. "Crip, cripple, gimp, monstrosity, low life, freak, useless shit" and many more. Kicks, beating, so much pain, tears burning in his red eyes. Down on the cold and hard ground, begging for his very life. A life, worthless and unwanted, but himself too scared to let it go. _

_There was mean laughter, scoffing, they told him nobody was gonna wait for him, let alone miss him. More pain, blood running out of his cold and mistreated aching body. Weakness, a last agonizing pain, darkness taking over, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. His inner voice telling him to not give in, losing consciousness would most likely mean his death. But why listen to his mind, when his heart was broken, all they said about him was right. He was worthless, unloved and in constant pain, so he finally gave up and the dark world turned black._

* * *

Lara heard the patient calling for his friend, but she was busy chatting with her BFF on facebook. Right now she was telling her that her patient was rich and going to pay a lot of money for the job. She wouldn't need the money, of course, because her David had enough of it, but his birthday was coming soon and she wanted to get a big gift for him. Well, most of those were lies, of course, but her BFF wasn't supposed to know all of this, because that would make their friendship impossible.

So, she kept telling her, what an old man the guy was and that he was incredibly annoying, a sissy – constantly whining and calling for his attractive young companion. Was the younger man the older guys boyfriend? His boy toy? No, most likely not, they probably weren't even friends. She guessed the attractive man was just working for the guy, because of the money. There was no way those two could be something close to friends.

She ignored the man's uneven breathing and his trashing in pain. She hoped he would just shut up, if nobody came to look for him.

* * *

The memories faded and so did the panic attack. All that was left was an intense pain that was too much to bear, too much to let him lose consciousness. His breathing was labored, out of control, he got less and less air into his lungs, the heart beating too fast in his chest.

One of the machines gave a loud alarming sound. The doctor was up in no time. He had been asleep in another room, but the noisy breaths and painful moaning of his patient had gradually woken him. He wondered why the nurse hadn't called him earlier, when he heard the alarm go off.

The nurse and the doctor arrived at the patients bed at the same time. He glared angry at her. "Call Mr. Reese! I take care of this man!" He didn't need long to give Finch some painkiller and a sedative through his IV. Not much, just enough to help the man calm down.

Harold's breathing slowed down, the pain was still bad, but his body felt numb. His silent screams were replaced by sobs. His eyes were burning, his face wet.

"Harold, can you hear me?"

Finch looked around, his eyes tried to focus to where the voice had come from, it was hard to see much without his glasses and his eyes were still filling up with tears. The only thing his mind was able to think of was "John? You h- here?"

"No, I'm sorry. Mr. Reese had left almost two hours ago, but he will be here soon. I've let call for him." The doctor was worried about the pained expression and the disorientation on his patients face. His vitals still not well enough. There were a few signs of a new shock. He was again angry at the young woman for not calling him earlier. His patient had obviously been very agitated for some reason and he was sure the amount of pain hadn't helped either.

He had seen too many lost battles to believe that his patient was going to survive, but as long as the man was breathing, it was his job to try and keep him alive as long as possible. It was still a miracle to him that the man, although in a critical life-threatening condition, woke up now and then, if only for a few moments, and was able to breathe on his own, though with some oxygen support.

Yes, it was a miracle, but Dr. Phillips knew all to well, that miracles weren't to last long. It seemed this last episode was just a small preview of what was to come soon. He had sensed a strong closeness between the patient and Mr. Reese. It made his heart heavy to know what would happen within the next days or maybe the next hour. Those men would both suffer. He sighed.

His thoughts were disturbed, when Harold Finch whispered again. The words didn't make much sense for him, but he heard the name John more than once and he heard him say: "not your fault".

He was just going to give the man more of the sedative, when Mr. Reese entered the room. He had obviously hurried to come here, seeing that he was out of breath.

"What's wrong with him?" John was already by his partners side, holding his hand. "He looks worse, he's in pain you have to give him something, please."

"It seems your partner had some sort of panic attack. Probably because of the assault. I was just going to sedate him, I already gave him one of the strongest pain medicines, but I'm afraid he has high tolerance to them. He might need Fentanyl. Things don't look too good for him. You should consider to bring someone here to bring his things in order or some sort of spiritual care..."

It was only one word, but it was deep, dangerous, harsh and surely left no way for any discussions. "NO!"

The doctor was still shocked by the other man's outburst, but didn't let it on. "He asked for you and I think there was something he wanted to tell you. I let you have a moment with him."

John bent down to whisper in Harold's ear. "Finch, I'm here." He squeezed the man's hand and caressed his face for a moment.

"J- John?"

"Yes, Harold. It's John."

"You're gone."

"I was, but I came back here for you." Tears stung in the ex op's eyes.

"Always with you, Mr. Reese." Harold tried to smile, but the pain would only allow a grimace.

"Yes." John swallowed hard, his heart breaking. "I know, you are."

"_Are you there, Finch?" - "Always, Mr. Reese." _How often did they have this conversation? Something so ordinary, tightened his chest now.

"John?"

"I'm still here, Harold."

"Not your fault."

There it was again, another proof of what he had known all along. The older man could read his mind. Something he wouldn't have liked with anybody else. But this had always been different for him.

"Thank you, Finch, but I should have been there."

Harold fought down a pain filled cry. "You were there, but don't feel guilty. You didn't know."

Now it was John's time to be confused. "I should have been there, but I wasn't Harold and I'm so very sorry." Reese let the tears free.

"Don't cry, they told you to do it. I – I know you didn't want to, I knew long before, just not when and how. Not your fault, never blamed you."

"I think that is enough, Mr. Reese. Your boss is supposed to be resting. I'll give him something for the pain and to help him sleep."

"Just a moment, doctor." John turned to Harold again. "What do you mean, Harold? I wasn't there when those guys attacked you."

"Not that attack, John. The other one."

"Which.." He didn't finish, he saw the pain in Harold's body intensify.

"Too much pain, John, sorry."

"I know, Harold. Just rest." He gave the doctor wordless orders to go ahead. "I know, my friend."

"Don't leave", whispered the suffering man, reaching out for John's hand again, fingers entwined.

"I won't, Harold." John placed a soothing kiss on his friends temple. But the man was already out and he was left with his very own thoughts about what the man had been trying to tell him.

When realization hit, he didn't want to believe it at first, told himself that Harold had just been confused with all the pain, normal in such a condition, that the man hadn't known what he was saying. But his heart felt like a strong hand squeezed it in his chest and he got down on his knees and cried out loud, heartbroken and unable to control his sobbing. He had a mental breakdown. Didn't even notice, when the doctor helped him up to a sofa and injected a mild sedative.


	10. An unknown source and the attack

"_What is it again that the man has done to make our government mad at him?" The op wasn't happy about the fact that everybody in the group of four men and one woman, except him, seemed to know who this guy was and what threat he could possibly be. He really had enough of obeying orders without thinking. He had done this as a soldier and he had done it long enough for the CIA now and it sucked. They didn't even show him a picture of the target._

"_None of your business, he's a threat to national security," Kara Stanton told him. "Don't ask too many questions."_

_But he wasn't one to give in, not anymore. He was ready to quit, problem was nobody just quit working for the CIA. "Well, why not let the NSA take care of him?" Stupid question, but to get on their nerves was the nicest thing he was able to think of right now. He wanted to go back home, to Jessica. Everything was already settled for his way out of the 'Company' without letting them know he was still there. He just hoped Jessica would be happy to see him, even if it was too many years too late. _

"_Shut up, John." She said, the other guys didn't say anything._

"_At least let me see a picture, I gotta know what the man looks like, if I'm going to shoot him."_

"_NO! No as in no picture, no shooting, no answers – no talking me full with any of your shit, too."_

_He looked at her, he wasn't sure, but he had gotten some information from an unknown source that let him know that the CIA planned to kill him on the mission that would wait for him after this, probably through the hand of his partner. Wouldn't surprise him, they worked so many years together now, but he often felt like being with a frozen body and heart around her. She was... it actually felt like he wasn't really with her – she could just be some sort of robot that was controlled from somewhere far away. Though her skin was very soft. He had worked out his own plans for the particular event and that would be his ticket out of this crazy job._

"_You don't want me to shoot him?"_

_She just stared at him, anger in her eyes. But he didn't care. "So how are we going to kill this guy?"_

"_Listen, John! I wouldn't be happy to get a new partner, you're quite good at what you're doing, but I killed people for less than pissing me off. Don't think, I wouldn't be able to kill you!"_

"_I know you could and would." Oh yeah, how well he was aware of that. But he hoped she would wait until that next mission, so his plan could work out and he could finally settle down with the love of his life. God, he loved Jessica so much. He didn't talk to his partner or the other guys anymore for the whole afternoon. It was late evening, when they started their mission, the mission he didn't know much about._

_It was an lonely place, just a small cabin and a car outside. Someone had several things sitting on the ground that he was obviously bringing to his car. Bags. Just bags? John chuckled for some reason._

_The men stayed in the car, while she went to the man that was just trying to finish his task. John wasn't able to see much, just that the man was only slightly taller than his partner. He could hear her voice. "Sorry to ask you, Sir, but is it possible to use your cell phone? My car broke a few miles away and I need a cab to get to town and maybe a hotel for the night."_

_When the guy answered, John was surprised by that nice voice and the way the man spoke. He had to be very well educated and John thought that he would always buy an audio book, when this man was reading it. But the man was probably going to die and it was such a pity. _

_Then Kara was talking again. "Thank you, you are such a sweetheart. Let me help you with your bags, it's the least I can do for your help."_

_The man turned away from her, bent down to go back to his things, when she crushed her gun down on his head. He went down, dizzy from the blow to his head and gasping in pain. Kara told the men to come over and they ran to her. _

_Their target was still down, one of the other men got to him and covered his face, the man wasn't able to see anything. "Get over here, and do what I tell you to", Kara ordered and John did as he was told. _

_It was painful for himself to hurt the man in such a horrible way. He had tortured many people in his life. But this man didn't ask for his life – not even once. He never opened his mouth to tell them anything they wanted. And that silence made the cries in pain, in pure agony, so much worse. _

_He broke every bone in the man's fingers, his hands, his arms, even broke the toes on the man's feet. It was so hard for him to proceed, he didn't know why, but he felt for this brave man. When he was told to break the man's shoulder and then step back, he got closer than necessary. While his fingers grabbed his shoulder to find the right spot, he brought his lips to where the man's ear was supposed to be under the cover. "I'm really sorry." It couldn't be true, but he was sure the man said "Not your fault, John!" How in the world could the man know him? He didn't know anything about this man. _

_Then he brought something down on the man's shoulder, something heavy, something thick, something cold in his hand and the man screamed out so loud that John felt like throwing up. The sound of the breaking bones didn't help. It was a huge fight inside of him. His first impulse was to hold the man up and bring him away from here. But that was impossible, so he stepped back and looked away, when the man crashed down on the dirty ground._

_Then Kara just sent them away and was left alone with the man. She said she would follow them later. They drove away and John was wondering what was going to happen to this poor soul now. _

_John looked at the man until he was out of sight and then, all of a sudden, he was in a dark alley a bleeding man in his arms, the man's mouth moving. "You're too late, why?"_

"Harold!" He woke up with a start, sweating, still in shock. Tears running down his face, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

He was swaying, feeling sick, but couldn't care less. He needed to be at his friends side.

The unknown source that had warned him, the man that had been tortured by his own hands, before he was the victim of a faked horrible accident that left him handicapped. That man that had saved him years earlier. "Always with you, Mr. Reese!"

This man had always been Harold Finch.

* * *

**Now don't be mad at John or me. You heard Harold, he never blamed him, because it wasn't his fault. **


	11. The little things

**Sorry for whatever mistakes you might find, but it's now one a clock, late at night, early in the morning and I hope my tired eyes found most things that weren't quite right:)**

* * *

John didn't know how long he had been sitting by his friends side. Time had gone by, but he had not even once taken the time for a break. And still, all he did was staring at the still form lying on the bed, holding a hand that was too cold, whispering the same words again and again, like some mantra.

The doctor had tried to understand what he was saying, but it wasn't loud enough for him to hear. He would have sworn that it was some prayer. But was Mr. Reese a person for prayers and such?

Dr. Phillips took a deep breath and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. Reese hadn't recognized him before and the sudden touch brought all his instincts back at once. His body tensed, he got up and pushed the doctor at the close wall. But his behavior changed within a second, when he realized that it was Phillips and no attacker. "I'm sorry, Doc. Never approach a soldier like this."

"I'm sorry, too. I wanted to let you know, that Dr. Manning is waiting for you in the examination room."

"Oh, I already forgot about him. Thank you. Tell him I'll be there in a minute." With those words John brought his attention back to Finch. "I'm not far away, Harold. Just in the other room. Don't be afraid, nobody's gonna harm you."

He turned around to take a look at himself in the mirror. He saw dark circles around his eyes, his hair seemed to have a bit more of a gray shade than usually, his face paler. All together, he looked like the worried and exhausted man he was right now. But John didn't care much about it. This was an extremely terrifying time for him and he had every right to feel and look like it.

His first impression of Dr. Manning told him all he needed to know. The man wasn't a source of sympathy, but he was friendly and patient on a professional basis and that was fine with Reese. The man didn't have to be his friend, he needed to do his job with enough kindness to let his patient be at ease. "Doctor, what can you tell me about his new injuries?"

"Well, Mr. Reese, as you probably know, your friend is one of my patients since a bit more than two years now. I'm afraid, that most of the damage that was done, will lead to more intense pain and more pain filled times for him. Some of them might go away with enough time and physical therapy, but don't get me wrong. Physical therapy will be grueling and very painful and it's not certain that it will be successful or help at all. That again puts a lot of emotional pressure on a person and isn't exactly helpful in motivating someone."

"He," John stopped for a moment. "We will go through this just fine."

"I'm glad you feel this way, but don't be to hard on him. He'll need those bad times and room for weakness to come out of them with new energy. Now to the medical side of the injuries. We are able to save his kneecap, but his knee will never regain 100 % of functioning again. I'll have to release some of the pressure on his spine in an operation. It will hopefully bring some of the swellings down. But I can't do it, before he's stable enough and every hour we have to wait will increase the risk of permanent damage. As far as his neck, there is not much we can do. I'm sorry to tell you, but the new injuries add to the ones that were inflicted on him during his crash a few years ago. It means more constant pain and stiffness."

John's throat threatened to tighten with the word crash. Now, that he knew about his own part in this faked accident, he felt responsible for every time Harold had been nearly out of his mind, because he had hurt so horribly; responsible for every time the man had almost been unable to move, because his body had failed him in the worst way. God, it had been hard enough to see him like this just as his partner, but to know, it was his fault, put a new level of helplessness and guilt to it. And yes, it was his fault, no matter what Harold said. It was fair to say that the normally strong John Reese felt ashamed.

"To be honest, everything I just said, needs him perfectly healthy and strong otherwise. Talking to Dr. Phillips, we both agree that it is unlikely he will survive his current condition and even if he does, it's uncertain he will come out of this healthy. His other injuries might leave him permanently weak and damaged as well. I'm sorry, there are not more good news for you."

"Every little of good news you gave me, is more than appreciated, Doctor. I've come to a point, were every tiny bit of hope is wanted and needed. It's the little things, you know?"

_It had been a few months earlier:_

_John noticed that Finch was more comfortable around him every day. It felt good to stand behind the man to look at the screen and to realize that Harold didn't feel nervous about it anymore. It had taken a lot of work and small steps to calm Harold this far. There were a lot of daily different situations that had changed so much since the first day they had worked together._

_Finch's body lost a lot of his tension around John, his voice was calmer, his behavior much more easy-going. Everything seemed to be more easy between them. And then finally, they reached that one point, where they started to enjoy each others company. It had taken Finch a lot longer, but that wasn't surprising with everything he had been through in his life – most of it still unknown to John Reese. But when this certain moment appeared, they both wanted, needed eye contact for a second or two. Each of them felt the importance of it, the transformation their relationship had made. John smiled for the rest of the day and before he left Harold that evening, he said: "I'm glad you found me. I trust you."_

"_Thank you, Mr. Reese." Harold said in his usual distant voice, before he smiled himself, the best his own insecurities and fears let him. "I'm also glad that I found you." _

_John knew it would take a lot of more work and time to make Harold say he trusted him. But that was okay, John knew that Finch trusted him a lot, but he had made too many disappointing and hurting experiences in his past to say it aloud. John knew and excepted it. "What changed?"_

"_I don't know, John, it's the little things that make us happy and comfortable."_

The little things... yes, Finch had been right back then, and now was the moment for John Reese to realize just how right he had been.

* * *

It was early the next morning, when the ex-op woke up. A look at his cell phone told him it was 6:12. It was still dark outside and was probably going to be another day with heavy rain. With this thought, his look went out to his partner. Rainy days were always the worst for the older man. Weather changes and wet weather seemed to make him stiffer and he tended to take more painkillers than usually.

He didn't turn on the light as he moved to the patient's bed. Harold's vitals were still worrying him, but they were somewhat stable at the moment. His boss' chest was rising and falling, not well enough, but with a certain regularity. The man's face was pale and John could see every hint of pain on it. It was colored in a strange white-gray shade as if moonlight was shining on it.

"Good morning, Finch", he whispered in the man's ear and squeezed his hand for a moment. It was still far too cold. The bloodless lips in the pale face moved for a moment after he had spoken. There wasn't a noise, but John could read the powerful word. _"Always." _

John was tired, but didn't want to go back to sleep. He didn't want to leave his friend, but he needed some strong coffee. Afraid of what might happen while he was gone, he decided to stay and sit down with Finch for a while. He thought about the things Dr. Manning had said the day before. Worry, helplessness, fear and grief changed into something else. Something that took all the energy. It erased all other feelings until only one thing was left: pure rage, the will to let those guys pay for what they had done.

When Dr. Phillips was with him, he asked to be excused and said that he was in need of caffeine. It wasn't a lie, not exactly, but it also wasn't quite the truth. He wanted to go out to find his second victim. The one who was number four on the list of 'who had hurt Finch the most'.

He had used the time that he had been waiting for the doctor to appear, to do some more research about that guy. Once outside the house, he called his favorite detective: "Carter, I want to double check something with you. One of the guys name is Benjamin Wright, he's 21 and lives with his mother, right?"

Carter was still in bed and not quite awake, yet. But she didn't complain, knowing that it was an extraordinary situation. She yawned a yes and listened to the address John gave her. She didn't want to answer, but she didn't have to. Her "John, don't do anything stupid!" said all he wanted to know and he hung up.

It was too far to walk and he was afraid that he would lose some of the current revenge mood, if his way took to long. He didn't want to think about what he was going to do. He lost his temper, was out for a vendetta and enjoyed it in a way, that would worry him under normal circumstances.

He took a cab, used the subway and walked another ten minutes. Then he was finally there. The apartment house, where Wright lived with his mother and a brother. It didn't take long for him to find a drug dealer. He bought enough of the stuff to allow the police to arrest the piece of shit and most likely keep him in prison for at least two years or with his police record, probably a few more.

He sat down on some stairs that allowed him to see the house without being seen himself. It took an hour and the guys mother left for work, a few minutes later the brother left for school. When Benjamin Wright finally left the house, he took the chance to run into him and put a brand new cheap cell in one of his pockets. He then waited for him to disappear at the next corner and made his way up to the apartment.

The lock wasn't bad for an average family, but no problem at all for the ex CIA man. The apartment wasn't big and he found Benjamin' room with one look around. He looked for a place to hide the cocain he had bought and decided for a locked desk and the mattress. To his surprise, or maybe not that much, he found that someone else had had the same idea earlier. There was already some of the stuff inside of it and he just added his. So he didn't even need to feel guilty. The guy was dealing with the drugs and the cocain he added just made the decision for the judge a bit easier.

As fast and soundless as he had come, he left the house again. His next goal was to find the guy through the cell. He had to walk a bit faster, but it didn't take him long to have Mr. Wright in view again. Close to a small, hardly used alley, he finally got his chance. He pulled the man's arms on his back, before the guy new what was happening to him. John pushed him around the corner and pressed him against the side of a house. "Hi Benjamin, I know what you did a few days ago!"

"What the fuck! Dunno what you're talking about. Let me go!"

"Or what? Will you beat me down until I'm helplessly, lying on the ground and then you kick me some more until I'm bleeding and begging for mercy?"

"Oh shit, you're a friend of this old cripple, huh?"

"His name is Harry!" Okay, Harold would never allow to call him that and he honestly wouldn't even think about calling him this name, but he thought it was a good compromise to the name Harold. Though Harold had nothing about him that could make him a 'Harry'.

"Okay, I don't know what Harry told you, but he was the one who started the fight."

"Did he? A crippled guy was brave enough to offend five young men, not even half his age?" John pushed his knee in the guys stomach and landed a few blows in the guys face. "Spare me your bullshit."

He let go off the guy. Wright started to attack him right away. But John saw it coming and was faster than the young man. He slipped away and was able to rush his fists down on the man's neck. The impact was unexpected and fast and Wright had a hard time to stay on his feet. "Now, Ben, how does it feel to fight against a man that is in perfect shape and not handicapped?"

"I'm gonna kill you, man."

John put an icy smile on his face. "Try!"

Benjamin Wright was easy to read. He stormed forward, trying to run his head first into the man's body, but he was too slow. John stepped aside and pushed him from behind, what caused the young man to run into the wall, his head first. He went down on his knees, holding his head, blood running through his fingers.

"You're exactly where he was, when you started kicking him." John brought his shoes down on the guy in front of him, once, twice and many times more. The guy didn't move anymore, but he was still conscious. Reese pulled him on his back and stood over him. "What now, big guy?"

"Naff!"

"I don't think so, I'm just starting!" John pulled the guy up and pushed him against the wall to aim destroying blow after blow on his face and his torso. He took his hands away and looked at the blood that followed Ben's head down the wall, till he was more lying than sitting on the ground. He brought his shoes up and down a few more times until the guy was finally motionless. John made sure the man was really unconscious this time. He took the cell, that he had put in the man's pocket earlier, with him and left.

His next move was to call Fusco. He told the detective where he could find the guy and told him that he should also talk to the narcotics squad. He didn't have to remind him to make sure Wright wasn't going to warn his friends. Lionel even surprised with good police work and told him that they would get the guy he had picked up before for grand theft auto.

John still hadn't had his coffee, but he felt much better and awake now. He decided to get Harold's favorite tea and sit down on his friends side for the rest of the still new day. John was smiling like he had just won a ticket to a sunny place somewhere else. He completly ignored the rain, that had just started. Nobody would have been able to tell what had just happened. Reese wasn't just a good fighter, he was also a very good actor. And honestly, happiness was happiness, no matter what the reason was.


	12. Water, prayers and a new lifeline

**This is a quiet chapter, the next one will have some more action again. I hope there are not too many mistakes in it, but if there are I hope to find them, when I had some sleep:) I just wouldn't want you to have to wait any longer. I don't mention your name now, nemo, lol.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and for spending some time with our heroes and me. But most of all for being patient and staying with me throughout this story.**

* * *

It began slowly. He didn't hear anything at first. The pain got more intense with every second. He was unable to open his eyes. Now there were strange noises that he soon recognized as medical equipment. He tried again to open his eyes, tried to speak, but he couldn't. He felt paralyzed, somehow. Panic took control over his mind and heart, breathing became harder. As his heartbeat got faster, the pain increased to a level that he could hardly bear. There were new strange noises, like a wounded animal. When he realized that it was him groaning with blinding agony, the panic got worse. Tears wet his eyes.

"It's okay, Harold, I'm here."

There. A voice. No, not just a voice. It was John's. He trusted him, he knew he was safe, when the man was there. He wanted to call John's name, but his throat was still tight. So he forced his eyes open and just looked into his partner's dark eyes.

"Don't try to speak, Finch. It's okay. You don't have to say anything." He took a glass of water from the nightstand and bent over to put the glass on the other man's dry lips. "Try to take a small sip." He helped Harold to raise his head enough to drink.

Finch looked thankful at him, but found himself unable to swallow the water; he coughed and the water ran out of his closed mouth. John saw the embarrassment on his face and in his eyes. "It's okay, Harold." He squeezed one of the cold hands.

Finch couldn't do much about the tears that now left his eyes. He was still in pain and to realize that he was unable to move most of his body, didn't make things easier, he was obviously too weak. But he was too dizzy to really worry about it.

John wet a cloth and put some water on his friends lips. He reached for a clean teaspoon and spooned some water out of the glass. It was all he could do to help Harold to get some water down his throat. He pushed the spoon in his mouth. Harold didn't really have to swallow, since there wasn't much water on it. John did it a few times more until Finch's eyes told him that he had enough.

He knew his friend felt humiliated and his heart went out for him. "You know, Finch, you're lucky you're still alive. I certainly am and there is nothing you have to be ashamed for. You helped me, when I was unable to help myself and I'm here to do the same for you."

Harold was tired, but he didn't want to go back to sleep. He had been out for the most of... Well, he couldn't really tell since when he was lying here, but he knew that he wanted to stay awake with and for John. His throat felt a bit better now. He was weaker than he had ever felt before, but he managed to whisper. "John." Reese brought his ear closer to his mouth. "Thank you."

"Please, don't thank me. I need to be here – for both of us. Oh God, Harold, I can't believe you've chosen me to be saved, after all I've done to you. Why?"

"A good person." A new wave of pain hit and Finch breathed through it before going ahead. "I knew and I was right, you're still here, didn't run away."

"I could never run away and just let you die, Harold!"

"Always with me, Mr. Reese, huh?"

John had to chuckle about it. "Yes, always, my friend."

"Friend?" Harold tried to smile himself, it didn't work.

"I get you something for the pain..." John wanted to get up, but something in Finch's eyes kept him where he was.

"Please, don't."

"But you're in pain, Finch. I don't want you to suffer."

"Makes me sleepy, don't wan- don't wan- want" Harold couldn't finish his sentence. Agony ripped through his body and he screamed out. John got a syringe from the other side of the bed and gave him a shot in the IV. He grabbed one of the older man's hands and caressed his face with the other hand. "It's okay, Harold. Just rest some, I'll be here, when you wake up again and we'll talk some more." He kept on talking for a long time, long after Finch's body had relaxed, his hand motionless in his own.

He was still alone in the room, when he stopped talking to Harold Finch. He put one hand on the injured man's heart and the other on his own. It was a lifeline, meant to give strength to the hurt man and to gain some new hope for himself.

John closed his eyes and this time he didn't speak to his friend. He spoke aloud, but nobody was there to hear it, but he guessed that didn't matter. Because his words were meant for the God he didn't believe in, while hoping for his existence and help. Not for him, but for Harold Finch. "Please, don't let him die. He's helping the people that you can't do anything for. He cares for people. Please, take some of his pain away and give it to me. I can take it, but I can't see him like this. You and I don't talk anymore, I know, I don't even really believe in you, but that's not his fault... please, don't take him away from me not now, he's still so much to give and I know it isn't right to ask for things for myself, but I can't live without him, I need him to go on. Whatever you do, please don't let him suffer."

He closed his eyes and silently started prayer after prayer, until he fell asleep.

* * *

"Any news about glasses?"

Carter looked at him. "No, John, didn't call. But you've been busy lately, huh?"

"Yeah, you're talking about the two guys I've arrested for him?"

"They were both part of the attack on Finch, but we can't arrest them for that. Do you have enough other reasons?"

Lionel had a big smile on his face now. "Yes! Those are their files – care to read them?"

"Nah, I believe you. You wouldn't want John Reese as an enemy." Now it was her turn to smile. But then her face went serious again and her voice deep. "Especially not in his current mood."

"Don't worry too much about him, Carter, he didn't kill those two, guess that's a good sign."

"I hope you're right." But she was pretty sure that it wouldn't be that easy. Joss didn't know what to expect, but she was sure that it was going to be bloodier than they would like.

* * *

Harold was in too much pain again, but it was at least better than earlier. He still couldn't move most parts of his body, felt still exhausted. He tried to reach out to get his glasses, that he hoped to find on the nightstand, but the movement of his arm was limited. He couldn't bring it up very high and let it fall down again in frustration, it landed on something that felt hard at first. He concentrated on moving his hand and fingers to touch it and feel what it could be. It was warm, a little wet, there were lips, a nose – so the wetness was sweat.

"John", he whispered more to himself than to the obviously sleeping man. His fingers found the man's hair and he ran them through it, like he had always wished for himself, when he had been a little boy. But his parents or anybody else for that matter, had never cared enough for him to do so; well, Grace would have done it, but he had never asked.

He was touched, his partner was really there, had kept his promise and had even fallen asleep with his head by his side. For a short moment Harold felt the peace and harmony he had felt after their dinner. _That_ dinner! The one before the attack. The one before he had been down on the ground bleeding, in pain, in shock, crying, begging for his life.

The peace was pushed away by panic, the harmony was slowly giving way to the fear to be too close to another person. The way he had been all his life, even with Nathan and Grace, because they both had known him and hadn't known anything about him at the same time. John didn't know all that much about his past and who he was or what his real name was, but John knew more facets of him than anyone else had ever known.

He didn't want to lose the special friendship he shared with the younger man, but also wanted to get away from him and hide from the world again. He had been lonely for at least 99 % of his life, since he had been born. He was torn inside. He didn't want to lose the closeness he had with John Reese and he couldn't afford it either. The man was his only line to the numbers, to the world and most of all to life.

Harold stared at the ceiling, it was supposed to help with panic attacks. His fingers grabbed John's hair, it was the only way to fight his inner demons. He didn't notice that he actually pulled on the other man's hair.

John woke up with a start, but stayed calm. He sensed that it was Harold touching him, sensed the desperate need in it. Reese took Finch's hand in his and carefully led it away from his head. "Welcome back, Harold." He did his best to sound casual. "How are you feeling?"

"John?"

"Yes, it's me." He got Finch's glasses and put it on the man's face. "See me now?"

Just a nod.

"Good, how are you?"

"_He really cares", _he thought. "Actually pretty good." He was a good liar, but what did this say about him? He didn't want to know.

Anyway, his employee didn't believe a word of it. "Okay, and now tell me the truth, Finch."

Harold sighed. "Weak, in agony, tired, lost." He saw the sadness and worry in John's eyes. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad, too, but there is something else, isn't there?"

"Well, yes and no, it's – I'm scared to hell, John."

Those words hit Reese with such a power, though he had known it. It was just worse to hear it from the strong, distant, always so secretive man. "I know, Harold. You and I are in this together. Okay?" He held the patients hand in both of his hands now.

Harold didn't know what to say. He was unsure how to feel about it. So many people had talked like this to him his whole life, but had then let him down as soon as he had any kind of problem. He had been a burden on them. He didn't want to be one on John, but knew he couldn't make it without him.

"Thank you, but there's something else, Mr. Reese."

"What is it? Is there anything I can get for you?"

"The doctor."

"Oh, sure." John got up, but then stood still. "I know you're in pain, but you wouldn't ask for the pain medicine. What is it?"

He took all of his strength and tried to find out something that he had feared all the time and was shocked, nothing had changed. "I feel pain everywhere, except my legs, I have no feeling in them and most of my back – and.."

"Yes?"

"I can't move my legs, my feet. Not even a single toe."

"It's probably just the medicine and, and..." He knew better, but didn't want to think about it.

"No, I know how that would feel. It's not the first time as you know. This is different."

"Oh God, Harold!"_Fuck fuck fuck! _He wanted to break down and cry or yell at someone, but couldn't. "I'm gonna call your doctor!"

* * *

**Okay, Harold was in less pain. Finally, but he can't move his legs. Is it permanently or will it go away while healing? And how much better is he really? When will he be out of the life-threatening state? How will John react? Will he finally hunt the last three guys down? Who knows...**

**I think there will be some things waiting for us in chapter 13.**


	13. Lara, rage and a surprising Harold

**Okay, this chapter is short and it wasn't the update I had planned, but while I was writing today, I couldn't stop thinking about a more cheerful mood, even if it was just for a moment and this chapter is the result. It hasn't the action in it that I promised, but one problem will be solved - at least for the moment. This might not be my best, but I somehow like it. And there will be another one soon and I'm sure it will be more what you expected.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little piece:)**

* * *

Dr. Manning had promised to be there as soon as he could leave his patients in his own clinic. They had to wait about two hours longer, but John was already pacing up and down the room, deep in his own thoughts. Harold had long fallen back to a restless sleep.

"Mr. Reese?"

John turned around to the woman at the door. It was the nurse, her name was Laura. No, it was Lara? Yes, Lara. Such details wouldn't slip his mind on normal days. But this day, like the whole week, was anything but normal. Well, their whole life was probably abnormal for most other people, but they weren't normal people either.

"Sir?"

Her again. He had already forgotten about her. "Yes, Lara?"

"It's time to wash him."

He just looked from her to Harold and back. Wash him? Like a child? The doctor wasn't too happy with Lara, but Reese hadn't thought about asking him why. "I don't know, he shouldn't be moved, especially now. Are you sure you can do that?"

"Yes, but if you'd rather do it yourself, I can -"

"No, no, he wouldn't like that." John knew that Finch would be deeply embarrassed that another person had to wash him, but he didn't want to mortify the man any further and wash him himself.

"I'll give you some space and wait in the next room. Please don't move him and be careful, he easily panics right now and he's scared, not to mention the pain."

"It's not the first time I clean a patient." Lara seemed a little annoyed.

He thought about yelling at her that Harold wasn't just a patient, not one of her ordinary patients, but he swallowed his anger down for the moment.

She followed him as he walked through the next room into the kitchen. She gathered some stuff from a sideboard. He made his coffee and she was sure he couldn't see her from where he was standing, she closed the laptop she had used while waiting for something to do and then left to start her job on Harold.

John waited until the door was closed and went to the desk. He had of course seen her closing the laptop and he had the feeling there was something she had tried to hide from him. He sat down, opened the computer and stared at the screen.

Lara had been in a chat with some girl named FashionVictim83. He read the first part of it and then started scanning, first in disbelief and then with growing anger. John read words like: ugly old guy, sissy, whiny, annoying, unworthy, a pain in the ass, nag, cripple...

There was more, but the rage made him dizzy and he heard something in the other room. It got louder and he recognized Harold's voice. He ran into the room and found Lara holding one of the patients leg up. The man was sweaty and asking her to stop, while howling with pain. John could see in his partner's eyes that he was horrified.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Lara had been so busy with holding Finch's leg and trying to wash it, that she hadn't noticed him earlier. The first shock caused her to let go of the patients leg and it fell back to the bed, causing another cry of pain from him.

"I, I just tried to wash him, but he wouldn't hold still."

"I told you to not move him! I told you to be careful! I told you he was scared!" John yelled.

Harold thought about stopping him, but he was still busy to regain control over the pain.

"But it's my job t-"

"It's your fucking job to take care of him, to ease his pain and not to cause more! Wrong, it was you're job, you're fired!" And he couldn't believe it, she was happy about it. Well, that meant she wasn't working for the money. One of Finch's deals. Great! Couldn't they get a break once in a while?

She left the room to pack her stuff, but she came back right away and looked at the patient she had mistreated so badly. "We are even, right? You won't ruin my life?"

Harold wanted to say something, but didn't stand a chance. John looked at him as if to say 'don't you dare to let it go' and Finch was suddenly very convinced that it was better to let John decide in this case.

The ex-CIA grabbed her by the left arm and pushed her back to the laptop. "What's that?"

She didn't answer. John pushed her face closer to the screen. He used his most threatening voice and asked her again. "What's that, bitch?!"

"Just a chat with my friend and you had no right to read it!" She slipped out of her jacket to become free and went back to Harold's bed. "Please, Mister, you promised to let me live my life, if I worked for you when needed and I did!"

"Lara, I can't decide before talking to my partner."

She gripped his wrist, luckily the one that wasn't injured too bad, but it was bruised and it hurt. But she didn't care about his moans. It was now her turn to yell. "You promised, you bastard!"

John came from behind and pulled her away from his boss. He had a hard time to control himself. "Go! Now!"

She walked away from the bed, turned around at the door, trying it one last time. "You won't tell my husband, okay?"

"Leave him, leave _us_ alone and go, because I swear to God that I'm close to lose it and you don't want that to happen!" John yelled so loud that even Finch was afraid of him for a moment.

Lara left without another word. The two men stared at the door for a while and then, without any warning, Harold giggled. John looked at him as if the man had lost his mind. "What's so funny, Finch?"

"When you yelled at her, it looked like," he tried to stop giggling "If this were a comic, there would have been wind around her, blowing her hair backwards."

John needed some time to comprehend, didn't know what to say and just stood there slack-jawed, looking at his employer who giggled even more now. "Look at your face, Mr. Reese." He laughed. "Please, close your mouth, you look so funny, it's killing me!"

John felt a bit angry, because this situation had been serious and he didn't think that there was anything funny about it, but Finch's laughs warmed his heart and he joined in.

That was until Harold was hit by a new wave of pain. John was serious in an instant and held his friends hand. "It's okay, Harold, just breath through it with me."

Finch relaxed soon. But John was worried, he could still see pain in his eyes. "Do you need some medicine?"

"No, I'm okay."

"You're not!" John thought about something for a second and his face lightened up. "You were in pain!"

"Um well?"

"You hurt, when she moved your leg, don't you know what that means?"

"John" was all he could say.

"Harold you feel your leg again, that's great!" It took Reese a few moments to realize that Finch didn't look happy at all. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't feel anything in my leg, but she moved it up so high that my spine hurt all the way. I'm still paralyzed."


	14. Hopes and an extraordinary friendship

Doctor Manning examined Finch. Finch was in pain, but swallowed all moans and cries as good as possible. Reese was a nervous wreck and Dr. Phillips just stood by and observed the silent conversation that seemed to be going on between the patient and his boss.

"_I'm sorry you hurt so much."_

"_It's not that bad."_

"_Your eyes tell a different story, Finch."_

"_I had worse."_

"_Maybe, but that doesn't make it any better."_

"_Ouch, okay that hurt a lot."_

"_I'm here with you, just focus on me."_

That was the conversation the doctor imagined and Mr. Reese and Mr. Finch searched each others eyes just then, they didn't lose contact, even when Harold's upper body jerked up in pain as Dr. Manning touched him at a spot on his spine. Yes, Dr. Phillips thoughts weren't so far away from the real thing.

When the examination was done, John helped Dr. Manning to lay Finch carefully on his back again. The injured man reached out for John's hand, who grabbed his without hesitation. John could tell how much his friend feared what Dr. Manning had to say. He couldn't blame him as he himself was scared, too.

"It seems like you're right, Mr. Finch, you're paralyzed. I can't say, yet, if it's permanent though. We have to wait until the swelling goes down some more and there is still the necessity of surgery."

"No! I don't want any more surgeries."

Everybody in the room looked at him. But he didn't care, he was sure about this and wouldn't change his mind. He had fought before to be able to walk at all and it had been very painful. He had been lonely back than. Finch was sure that John wouldn't want to work with a cripple like him anymore. Let alone be friends with someone as worthless as him. Okay, John was still here, but would the younger man really be willing to spend his time with a person that needed help for everything? He didn't think so. Life had taught him a different lesson. And more than anything, Harold Finch was scared to go through it again, left alone. "No surgery."

John squeezed his hand. Trying to tell him that he was with him, what ever he would decide, even though he really didn't want Harold to give up like that.

The two doctors left and Reese followed them to find out, if there was anything they didn't want to talk about in front of their patient.

"Mr. Reese, Dr. Phillips and I agree that it would be too soon to operate now. He's still not out of the woods. We can't risk to perform surgery, yet. So maybe, when he's condition isn't life-threatening anymore, we will be able to talk some sense into him. I have a feeling you and him are pretty close, maybe you can change his mind."

"I can talk to him, but I won't talk him into doing something he doesn't want to. I'm ready to accept whatever he'll decide."

"Well, there's nothing left for me to do right now. I'll stay in touch with Dr. Phillips and come back to see him in a few days."

When the door closed behind his colleague, Dr. Phillips turned to Reese. "I'm surprised about the progress your boss makes. His health has improved some, since you first brought him here. But please, don't forget that he's still fighting for his life."

"What's that supposed to mean, Doc?"

"I can see, how your hopes get up. If his recovery will go on like this, he's a great chance to survive, but it's still possible, that his health makes a turn for the worse again. I just want you to be prepared."

"Okay, thank you Dr. Phillips." John didn't know what else to say. Did the doctor really expect to be taken seriously? How could he possibly prepare for the worst case? He couldn't. It was impossible. He would be devastated. There was no way, he could keep himself from being anything but heart-broken. But to be fair, how could Dr. Phillips or anybody else for that matter, really understand how much Harold meant to him, how much he needed the man, when he himself couldn't really put a finger on it? He thought he knew why, but was sure there was more than he could explain. Their friendship was extraordinary.

John went back to Harold's room, only to find the other man already asleep again, pain and exhaustion still visible on his face. He was surprised how vulnerable and young his partner looked, while he seemed to have aged ten years. The protectiveness and sadness that filled his heart grew to a point where he could actually feel a physical ache. He took a fresh cloth and put some water on it to wash the sweat from the other man's forehead.

* * *

It was an hour later, when the ex-op left the building. He had done some more research on the third person on his list. The guy's name was Jason Wagner, he was 24 and worked at a copy shop. His shift was soon over and Reese wanted to be there in time to have a good 'talk' with him.

John didn't have to wait long for Jason. The young man didn't notice that someone followed him all the way to a diner, where he sat down on the bar and ordered a beer.

Reese that down on the chair next to him and ordered a beer as well. "A hard day?"

Wagner looked at him. "Yeah. You?"

"One of the hardest I've ever had." John thought about Lara, about the pain and fear on Finch's face and in his eyes during the examination.

"Sounds bad, what happened?"

John ordered two whiskeys for them. "I'm John."

"I'm Jay."

"Tell me about your day, Jay."

"Just some stress at work, too many customers and my boss was quite an ass today."

"Funny that you talk about your boss right now." John ordered another round of whiskey.

"Your bad day, was it your boss?"

"Yes, but it wasn't his fault." He ordered another drink for Jason. "He's fighting for his life."

"Wow, what happened?"

"Someone tried to kill him."

"Really? That's horrible!"

John ordered another drink for the man next to him and watched him pouring it down. "Yeah!"

"Why would anybody do that? Any kind of problems or so?"

"No problems, he just was at the wrong place at the wrong time." He knew that the guy was finally pretty drunk. "Let's go to another place, maybe a pub, and have some more drinks."

"I don't know..."

"I'm going to pay."

Wagner laughed. "Okay!"

They left the diner. Jason was swaying next to Reese. John led him to a dark alley.

"Where's the pub?"

"Here!" John rushed his fist in the other man's stomach. "You tried to kill my friend!"

"What are you talking about, Mister?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean." John pushed him at the wall and brought his knee up right into the other man's testicles.

Wagner wanted to say something, but Reese was faster. "I'm done talking!" Images of Finch were going through his mind, the pain in his face, the cries of pain, the fear of the future, but most of all, the bleeding man in his arms, close to death.

The ex-op couldn't control himself anymore. He just kept beating and kicking the guy. But Jason was unconscious pretty soon and John stopped attacking him. He stole a car, careful not to be near a camera, and drove away after putting Wagner in the trunk. He didn't drive far.

He got out of the car again and made sure that nobody else, would be at any risk to get hurt. John pulled the man out of the trunk and sat him on the driver's seat and put a great amount of drugs in his pockets. He started the car and watched it roll down the blocked road. It wouldn't get too fast and the guy wouldn't die, but that wasn't John's intention. All he wanted was to make sure the police would imprison him for grand theft auto and the drugs, drunk-driving was just an extra.

The car sped up a little and crashed into a barrier, that was made of stone. The front was destroyed. John went to look at Jason. The guy was still alive. He was bleeding from shattered glass, but okay otherwise, except the bruises that John and the crash had left, nothing serious. Reese left the unconscious man and called Fusco again to tell him, where he could find the guy.

* * *

John made it back to the house, where his boss was still fighting against all odds. He didn't enter the building; instead he walked to the next block and took the stairs to another house. It was huge and different from all the other buildings around.

He slowly opened the door. It was cold and somewhat dark inside. At first, John felt kind of lost, but he soon spotted a place where candles were burning. He went there, bought a candle and lit it. He got down on his knees and prayed for Harold Finch. He then got up and left the church without another look around.

Finch was probably awake again and waiting for him. He had promised to stay with him and he was determined to keep this promise. Reese had broken many of them in his life, but it was different this time. His own person of interest was depending on him and he wouldn't let him down.


	15. Nightmares and family

**It's probably time to admit again, that Person of Interest, Harold, John, Carter, Fusco and the machine aren't mine. No doubt, I wish it'd be different. Sigh! I'm not making any money with my story. I'm writing this for fun and for you and I hope you enjoy it with me as long as it lasts.**

**Thanks for all the nice reviews and PMs. I hope I didn't forget to answer to any of them. If I did, I am sorry and hope you will give me another chance with your next review. **

**And now back to our heroes:**

* * *

The rest of the evening had been uneventful and John had soon fallen asleep on the chair next to Finch's bed again. But the night was short. John woke up with a start, when his boss was tossing in bed, obviously trying to fight off someone.

_The knife came down again. The pain was excruciating. There was blood all around and on him. He was scared to death. But that was a really bad choice of words, because death was close, he could feel how his life was running out of him with every new drop of blood that was covering his clothes and the ground. He fell into a darkness, where he felt nothing anymore._

"I'm here, Harold, I'm here." He took the other man's hand and was glad that he had calmed down again. But fate wasn't on their side, what he thought was a peaceful sleep, didn't last long; nightmares can be cruel and this one wouldn't let go of the one dreaming.

"_Please don't, no!" He screamed, but couldn't get rid of the pain. If anything, it just made it worse. Blood was leaving his body and running through his fingers. But he didn't have the strength to apply enough pressure to stop it and it wouldn't help anyway. He was bleeding through three wounds, there was no chance he could help himself._

_There was John, he could see him standing there, not far away, across the street. But he didn't come any closer, though Harold was reaching out for him. John just stood and watched as his life was literally running through his shaking fingers. _

"_I'm so sorry, Harold."_

"_Why? Help me!"_

"_It's too late, Harold, I'm too late." John closed his eyes for a moment. They were full of tears, when he opened them again and with one last "I'm sorry!" he turned around and left._

"_Please don't go, John!" Harold yelled with a strength he didn't know he had left. "Please, don't let me die. Don't let me die alone." The last word still lingered on his lips, when he finally took his last breath._

"I'm not going anywhere." _You won't die, not if I can help it. _"You're not alone, Harold, I'm here." John still held the patient's hand, and squeezed his shoulder to wake him.

"_You're not alone, Harold, I'm here", Harold heard, when he was able to breathe again all of a sudden. Then he felt the hand touching his shoulder. It was John. "Don't leave, Mr. Reese, don't let me die alone." Tears were filling his eyes, pain was running through his body. "Stay with me, John."_

"_I'm with you, Harold."_

Finch cried out in pain, when he finally came through. He first realized that the comforting hand was still on his shoulder. His eyes opened slowly and he turned his head slightly until the familiar face of John Reese came in view. He wanted to say something, but his voice failed him.

"Don't try to speak." John took the wet cloth from the nightstand and cooled the other man's forehead with it. "I'm here."

Finch closed his eyes, relaxed under his employees touch, let his voice calm him. The pain was still there, but he knew that they had already given him far too much medicine.

Mr. Reese looked exhausted and Finch felt guilty, because it was his fault and he couldn't do anything about it. Well, there was one thing. He decided to hide the agony and fear he felt. He didn't want to add anything more to John's worry; the man had enough on his mind and the last thing Harold was going to be, was a burden on his younger partner. He wouldn't risk to annoy the man so much that he would finally leave and never come back.

"Thanks." It wasn't much, but it was the only thing that was important to say now and he didn't have the energy to say more anyway.

John had seen the agony that was written all over his boss' face, when he had come to consciousness. He could see that it was still there, but there was something else; Harold was trying to hide it. Reese didn't like it, because the pain was just going to be worse, if Finch didn't release some of it. But he decided not to say anything about it, not yet. He knew that his friend tried to make it easier for him and he would play his game for a while. "Bad dream?"

Harold knew, John was just trying to start a conversation to help him hide his pain, and he was grateful. He nodded. "You were in it."

Reese smiled. "No wonder it was a bad dream."

"Yes," Finch smiled back, or at least he tried. "You, you always give - give me nightmares."

"Nah, why didn't you tell me earlier?" John got some water for his friend and let him drink a bit. "I know, I'm giving you headaches, but I never thought I was the man of your dreams."

"Not likely!" Harold rolled his eyes.

John laughed at him. "Aw, don't be shy, Harold."

Finch sighed, he didn't say anything. He really enjoyed their banters, but John sometimes left him unable to find a proper response. That wasn't something he would ever get used to, he was the master of the English language, but still.

"It's okay, Finch. You don't have to say anything," John teased. But his smile was wiped from his face and eyes, when he saw that his partner's body seized with mild cramps. "No, no, Harold." He tried to calm the man down. "Doctor!"

"Come on, Harold!" He was scared now, the mild seizing was replaced by heavy convulsions. The man had a major seizure. "Don't do this to me."

"What's wr-." Phillips stopped dead in his tracks. "Hold him still!" He usually told people to make some room, but he was afraid that the seizure would cause more damage to the injured spine.

John tried his best. He was strong, but the seizure was stronger and he had a hard time to hold the man down. "I'm here, Harold. Please, try to relax."

Finch looked into his eyes and John saw the panic in them. It was heart-wrenching, but he didn't look away. He thought it was the only way to let the man know, that they were in this together. "Don't be scared, Harold. I'm here." His voice broke. "I won't let go."

The seizure intensified for another minute and then the meds finally kicked in and Harold was limp in his hands. A silent tear left Harold's eye, his face a mask of raw emotions. Fear, agony, exhaustion. But the thing that was burnt into John Reese's heart forever was the helplessness in Harold's face and the whispered words, that were meant for him, but never meant for him to actually hear them: "I'm not worth your time."

John felt his legs give in. He had to sit down or he would have fallen. It was impossible, he hadn't heard right. Harold hadn't said those words. Now it was Reese that panicked. He was dizzy, his heart racing and breathing had never seemed harder.

"Worthless," Harold slurred a last time before finally passing out.

John stared at him with widened eyes and an open mouth. The realization, that Finch was a broken man, hurt. John Finch wasn't one to break, no matter what, he was supposed to be strong. He never lost control, the man gave the words 'to be in control' a whole new definition. Could it really be that he was that broken? Reese didn't know how to handle it. How could his boss, his friend think he was worthless to him?

The man was worth more than he would ever know. He was highly-valued, appreciated, needed, wanted and loved. Harold was family, his family, his only family and he wouldn't allow that the man would ever forget this. Never ever!

* * *

**Sorry, I had to keep this short, but I'm pretty busy and didn't have much time. I'm glad that I was still able to upload this update. The next one will be on in a few days and it will probably longer. There was a relapse this time, but I think we all can see that Harold is still feeling better, he's able to talk more. There are still two man to bring down and we still don't know, if he will ever be able to walk again. Anyway the story has only a few chapters left and I hope you will be with me until the end of this story and hopefully after that.**


	16. Info

Dear reader,

I broke my arm last week on Friday. It's the right one. Typing with one hand isn't easy, especially with the left. I still try to write the next chapter, but I will need some time. Please be patient with me.

All yours,

Neshomeleh


	17. Sadness and Depressions

**Before I say anything else, I have to thank you so very much for your patience and for your sweet supporting messages, get well-wishes and reviews. Thank you! I especially thank scully1138, BobbyCreamino, lately Xayhra.**

**But most of all I want to mention the sweet DharmaRecruit, you are one source of inspiration and motivation and one of the kindest persons I've ever met through the internet. It's an honor for me that you read my story. That said, I'm planning to write a story for you. But you have to be a bit patient:)**

**Everybody else is of course welcome to read and review - you are all great!**

**I admit that I lost the connection to the story during this long break, so the chapter might not be my best and I know it's short, but it helped me to come back to this fic and I'll be on full force again with the last few updates.**

* * *

He drank some of his coffee, it was cold, but he didn't care about such things right then. The bruises on Harold's pale face and body were changing their colors. Some of them were already disappearing. Big white bandages with bloody smears were screaming at him, reminding him of the horrible attack.

Many different emotions and thoughts welled up inside him. So many, that his heart and head ached, but they all came down to one thing: Finch.

It was still hard for him to really comprehend this horror. Everything had started with a beautiful dinner. How could something so good turn into such a nightmare? He wished this would be a bad dream, so he could just wake up from it any minute. A dream, that had started with a call from the Machine to let him know the admin was in danger. From that moment things had gotten worse with every passing hour.

The image of a bleeding, unresponsive Harold didn't stop popping up, whenever he tried to think clearly. He had held him tight in the car, had felt how the life of his partners had literally left his body.

John was shaking. All this blood, the fear to lose him. As if that wasn't bad enough, the guilt of what he had done to his friend with his own hands weighed heavy on his shoulders. Sure, he hadn't known him back then, when he had been working for the damned CIA, but that fact didn't help now.

He fought the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. Harold needed him to be strong. _Not worth your time. Not worth your time. Not worth your time._ John wished for the first time that Harold's voice in his head would just shut up. Those words hurt like hell. _Worthless. _It was too much for him, he couldn't fight them any longer and silent tears ran down his cheeks.

_When did I become so emotional? _He looked at his sleeping friend. "You have done this to me, Harold Finch. You are my weakness." He whispered. "But you're also my greatest strength." His hand held the other man's and squeezed it. John looked up to the ceiling, trying to regain control over his emotions.

Soft noises that didn't come from any machines got through to Harold and he chose exactly this moment to slowly open his eyes. He sensed that something was going on and that he was needed. It took him a few seconds to be able to recognize his partner through a blur. He watched him for a bit. "Mr. Reese?" _God, what a horrible sound._

"Harold!" John turned to his boss and failed badly to hide the surprise on his face. He knew he was caught, but still had the silly hope Finch wouldn't notice his condition.

But the older man didn't share his hope. He took a good look and scanned him. His eyes were red, Harold could see that he had been crying. John hadn't shaved since the attack, he was exhausted, dark shadows seemed to linger over his face and his whole being, he looked like he hadn't had enough sleep and food. The man was drained, a nervous wreck.

Harold was sad to see John like this and he was ashamed. It was his fault. He had done this to him. His worst fear had become reality. He already was the burden on the younger man, that he never wanted to be. It was depressing and the thought of being worthless got a hold of him again. _Maybe, I should have died in that street. _He took another look at Reese. _He would be better off without me. _

"Are you okay, Harold?" _Silly question._

"No, I'm actually not okay."

"Why? Do you need anything?" John got up, but the older man stopped him.

"I don't need anything, but..." A deep breath. "But you need sleep, good food, a razor and most of all a shower."

"I'm fine, Finch. It's getting colder outside, a beard can't be a bad thing and I smell like flowers."

"More like a wet dog."

"You must be better, you're back to your grumpy old self." John was suddenly very interested in the wall at his right, a good way to hide his big smile.

"It wasn't my intention to amuse you, Mr. Reese." _Just leave and take good care of yourself. _"You're still working for me. Your health is important for our line of work. So please, would you just go and do it for me?"

"Well, Harold. See, that's were you're wrong. I'm not here as your employee, I'm here as your friend and I'm not leaving. But I promise to take better care of myself in the future."

Harold wanted to answer something, but was suddenly very weak. "Okay", he whispered. "Just don't break your promise."

John was worried about Finch's sudden weakness and the pain he could see in the man's face. "It's okay, Harold. Get some rest." He took his friend's hand and squeezed it. "Close your eyes and sleep." Finch closed them and relaxed slowly. "That's good, my friend. Don't worry too much about me. I'm strong enough to take care of both of us."

"Go..." Harold was already drifting away. _"And never come back", _was his last thought before darkness took over.

"Psst, it's okay, I stay for a little while with you and then go and take a shower."

John wouldn't leave though. This place had a shower and he had a fresh suit waiting for him, and he would shave, but he couldn't find any appetite in him. He was hungry, yes, but just the thought of food made him sick to his stomach. What he really wanted, what he really needed was a drink. Not just one. He was longing for a bottle of the cheap stuff that he had been drinking while living on the street. It had made him numb and that was all he wanted to be in this situation.


	18. Feeling human and losing a fight

**I want to say something to those that keep asking me to make this a Rinch story. I won't turn any of my POI-fictions into a love- or slash-story. I am straight, but do read some gay stories as the Donald Strachey-Mysteries by Richard Stevenson or the Mark Manning-series by Michael Craft and others that I can really recommend to those that are interested in them, because they don't include more than the normal portion of sex, have strong loving relationships in them and are very well written crime books that are interesting for everybody, no matter if gay or not, who's interested in good mysteries.**

**The reason why I'm not turning this into a romance is pretty easy. Those two men share such a beautiful deep friendship, share such a special strong bond, that a slash-story or anything close to it, wouldn't feel right. At least not for me, I think to write them as a couple wouldn't be enough, wouldn't honor their relationship enough. They mean so much to each other, because they both had lost all, had lost their lives, their loves and themselves and lived a sad lonely life for too long, before Finch finally found Reese and they both gave each other a meaning to their lives again.**

**I would imagine that after you were mistreated, hurt and lost for so many years, your heart would be so broken and your soul so shattered, that it would be impossible to repair them. And I think that after living this way for such a time period, you would honor and respect another person, like John and Harold do, so much that it would be impossible to describe this unique closeness. I can only imagine what it would be like to really find the one human being you can trust with your whole and existence after going through such times.**

**And my intention in this story is, to try the impossible. I hope, that I am able to make some of you get at least a glimpse of the way they are suppossed to feel.  
**

* * *

Hot water ran down his hair and body. He closed his eyes to fully give himself to the warmth, to let go of the tension that had been built over this horrible last week. It was good to relax a little, to feel human again. Harold had been right, he had smelled like a wet dog, probably worse.

The water did not only wash the dirt away, but also some of Harold's dried blood that he still had on his skin, because he had only changed after holding the heavily bleeding man close to him, but not cared to really clean himself.

He had nearly lost his life line and he still could. Harold would have to fight to survive, but the change in his mood had not been unnoticed by John. The ex-op was sad about it and hoped he'd be able to lift him up. Harold's mood was probably normal for someone who had been in such an unfair fight, was fighting for his life and had just learned that he was paralyzed, maybe for the rest of his life. Little did John know about the real reasons behind his boss' dark thoughts.

With his eyes closed, John allowed his mind to drift back to the night, when all of this had happened.

"_The wine and the food are delicious, Harold. Thank you."_

"_I've to thank you. It's good to share some good food and a conversation, that doesn't include computers and crime."_

"_You're absolutely right. I'm glad to have a nice quiet evening."_

"_But John, you need the action. This must be boring for you."_

"_No, Finch, it actually isn't. I don't miss anything. I enjoy what I have. I'm glad you asked me to join you."_

_Finch's shy and happy, almost grateful smile was good to see, it was one of those he rarely allowed himself._

_Not so long after..._

"_Hold on Harold, I'm here now. I'll get you help and you will be brand new." _

_Finch was seated on the passengers side and John pulled him closer, so that he could hold him, while driving. Sure, he was worried about any further damage to the injured man's spine, but the man was too cold from blood loss and he couldn't risk that. Also it was a life-line. _

"_I don't know, if he's gonna make it."_

"_You have to come out of this alive. I need you, my friend."_

_These wounds, all this blood... The blood, it was everywhere, the whole room was covered in it. Wherever he turned, all John could see was red. He gasped for air..._

_..._and was back to reality within a second. His heart was beating too fast. He was scared to open his eyes, too afraid that it hadn't been a dream. What if he opened them and everything was still red from Harold's blood? _It was a dream, John, a fucking nightmare!_

He opened his eyes. Everything was normal, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Yes, it had been a dream, but in reality it was an endless nightmare. It had been memories of something that had shaken him to the core. The fear of losing Harold Finch came back full force. He put his arms around his shoulders, like he was hugging himself, sat down, laid his head on his knees and begged Harold to not give up. The running water swallowed his words and sobs, silently washed the bitter tears away.

* * *

Finch was awake and in great pain, but didn't ask for medicine. He kept his eyes closed, pretending he was still asleep. No, he didn't deserve the relief that a syringe could give him. He had destroyed the only person he really cared for since Nathan and Grace.

First it had been a shock to realize, that all those guys had said to and about him was the truth, but now, he could see it crystal clear. He was a useless cripple, not able to do anything right, to do anything himself, he was nothing but ballast on John's shoulders.

Looking back he realized more and more that he had probably been a burden since the day he was born. It hadn't been his parents fault that they weren't able to care for him, no, it had been his own. He had been an annoying baby and kid, always needing attention and asking for hugs. When his father had used his belt to chastise him severely and his mother had sent him away, when he was looking for comfort, it hadn't been them. He had forced them to treat him this way, because he had always wanted to be the center of their lives. His parents hadn't given him away, because their freedom had been more important to them; they had given him away because he had been a clumsy, clingy, horrible four year old. And he had never learned his lesson. He knew all of a sudden, that every family he had lived with after this, had felt the same hate for him, because he'd never known his place. Instead of staying in the background, he had always tried to be a part of their families. How had he even dared? No wonder they had mistreated him.

"_I was a mistake, I should have never been born in the first place." _The fact made him sad. He had always been and still was a bastard. _"I don't deserve to be John's friend."_ That thought made him even sadder. "_Don't worry, he'll soon find out how useless you are and he will leave without looking back." _

Harold was afraid to be left alone again, but he didn't have any right to ask anyone to take the time to care for him. He would miss John Reese. The man had made his life better, had _brought_ him back to life. As much as he was shattered by the thought of losing that connection, he knew that there was no other way. Really, he didn't have a choice; he had to let go, because his friend would leave anyway.

A deep sadness took over and mixed with the pain that was unbearable by now. Heavy depressions, that he didn't realize he had, were sucking off the little energy he had left, the little energy his body would need to fight agony and death. The last sound he heard before the world turned into nothing was the alarming sound of the machine that controlled his vitals.

* * *

John didn't smell like flowers now, but he smelled manly. Well, like the deodorant and aftershave he had used. He was looking much better now, except for the dark spots around his eyes and that hopeless emptiness in them. He had just buttoned his shirt, when he heard a loud somewhat annoying noise. For a second, he couldn't do anything but throw a questioning look at the door. Then it dawned on him and he took the two rooms between the bath and Harold's bed in no time.

Dr. Phillips was already with the older man. His first thought was to ask for the younger man's assistance, but one look at him, told him it was useless. John Reese was standing near the bed and staring at his boss in shock. So the doctor did what he had to do without any help.

John couldn't find it in him to move or look away. It was horror to see Harold flatline, he was too shocked to react. He was standing still, clenching his hands to fists, breaking out in hot and cold sweat and all he could focus on was the man that didn't come back, when the doctor tried to bring him to life again.

The fight for Harold's life was traumatic for him. With every second, his friend was drifting away from life, from this world, from him - and for a long moment he felt an icy cold hand grabbing his heart, squeezing it so hard that it broke in pieces.

It was like one could hear a feather falling, and when an unsteady sign of life appeared on the monitor, it was like it filled the whole room, when in reality it was so weak that it almost wasn't there. Harold was still more dead than alive, and John was so confused, so helpless that he wasn't able to built a proper thought in his head.

The horror scenario from just a minute ago still had a strong grip on him and he left the house without a word after holding Finch's hand for a moment. This had been too close and he was out for a vendetta again. He didn't have a conscious thought about what he was going to do, but he knew it would be bloody this time.

* * *

**I first wanted to end this with the moment, when the doctor wasn't able to revive Harold, but I don't have it in me to be so cruel. I'm just too much of a nice person, lol. **


	19. No heart

**What can I say? I'm sorry for waiting so long to write the next chapter. I was worried, because I'm just horrible in action scenes or writing them. I think there isn't too much action in this chapter and I could at least write it somewhat good. I'm not convinced, but I guess the next chapter with Finch and Reese will be much easier again. We're getting closer to the end; let's hope it is a good end.**

**I try to answer every review, but some of you have unabled PMs or are reviewing as guest. I want to use this way to thank those of you that couldn't get a message from me.**

* * *

John went to the library for the first time since that nightmare had begun. He felt lonely there, looked around, saw images of Harold sitting at his desk – sometimes smiling, far too often in pain. He missed the image of Finch eating donuts or just drinking his favorite tea. Those thoughts made the loneliness worse. He missed Finch and it hurt.

The quiet was very disturbing. John had always thought it was silent in the room, but now that his friend's voice was gone, the room had lost everything that had made it something like a home. Yes, he missed the man deeply. His heart ached, God, he even missed the sound of Harold's fingers typing away on the keyboard.

He looked up what he had about Richard Gaynor:

People called him Rick, he was 23, unemployed and married. He was known to be a violent person, his ex-friends could have told quite a few stories about it, if they weren't too scared. His newest victim was his wife; she had been hospitalized with several broken bones and bruises for at least twelve times in the three years they were married. She had once tried to get help from the police, but the officer she had spoken to, had been an idiot and had messed it up. Since then, she didn't dare to say another word about it.

John ignored the irrelevant list. Harold would be furious, if he'd known, but Reese had no time to help other people. His only concern right now were his friend and the men that had tried to take Finch away from him.

He got up and went to the gallery of pictures. There was a new photo, one he hadn't seen before. But how was that possible? He hadn't been here and Harold, well, it was obvious that he hadn't been here either. He took the picture from the wall and saw that there were already notes about the woman – it was his boss' handwriting. John didn't know what to think, it was impossible that Harold had written this.

The woman on the picture was Juanita Pérez and he realized that he could use her to get Gaynor. She became important for his next move. It didn't take him long to find out how to contact her and he called her, said his name was Richard Gaynor.

After she promised to meet him in an hour, he hung up and called Zoe Morgan. "Hi Zoe, I need your help."

"Hey handsome, I'm glad you call me. I thought you forgot me."

"I didn't have a reason to call you", he said with a grim voice.

"John, what's wrong? Your not the charming guy I remember."

"Sorry."

"You said you needed my help."

"Yes, you have to call someone for me." He told Zoe in a few sentences what was going and she promised to call Richard Grayson as Juanita Pérez.

Everything was going well and he got a car and drove to the appointment. He had a while left before his victims were supposed to come. John didn't like violence against women and children. He still felt horrible for what had happened to Jessica. He had loved her so much, she'd been the love of his life and he had been an idiot to let her go. He had thought he was doing the best for her, only to learn how wrong he had been. She had died. It had broken his heart to find out that she had been abused by her husband.

With all the hate he felt for those type of guys he was soon becoming one of them. Rick was in view and Juanita wasn't far away now, she and Rick would soon meet. It was the perfect time for him to act.

He got out of the car, grabbed Gaynor, and knocked him out at a single stroke. He put the man in the trunk of his car and waited for Juanita.

When he saw her coming, he pulled a mask over his face, slipped into a long coat and pushed her into a back-alley. He was beating her, not like the expert in conflicting damage he was, but the way a violent husband would treat his wife. Images of Jessica beaten by her man came back to him and he used the rage to focus on his task. If there was any woman that deserved the pain, it was Pérez. He then let go off her and pulled a small gun out of her purse.

John went back to the car and pulled Rick out. He took the man close to the woman and made sure there were marks on Rick's fists to prove that the man had beaten Pérez. He got out of the coat and quickly helped the still unconscious Richard into it, then put the mask on the man's face. He pushed the gun in the woman's hand.

Reese waited for Rick to slowly come through and then pulled the trigger with her finger. Before the man knew what was happening a shot rang in his ears, followed by a burning pain in his knee.

John got into the car and drove away. His plan had worked out. Now it was time to call Lionel. "Fusco, I have another gift for you."

"Yeah, you know, I'm not your private cop, got me?"

"Awww, Lionel, is it time for your period again? I'll ask Carter to buy you some ice cream and a few sappy movies."

"Not funny, sorry, can't laugh with you. So you have guy number four for me, huh? What did you do this time?"

"It was such a coincidence that he met a woman and almost punched her to death. I'm glad she had a gun and was able to knock him out with a shot to his knee."

"Really, a coincidence? Isn't that convenient for you? Listen John, I understand that you want to let those guys pay for what they did to gla- to your boss, but to hurt an innocent woman is not the right way."

"As much as like this small talk, Lionel, we have to keep it short. Who said the woman was innocent?" He paused. "Her name is Juanita Pérez, she takes young girls away from home, kidnaps them from different places in South America and sells them as sex slaves or as 'housekeepers' that are tortured by their owner. She's also known as 'No Heart' and I'm not talking about Care Bears."

"No heart? Are you serious?"

"Finch needs me." John hung up.

The cop was excited. 'No Heart' was wanted for at least three years now. This was the best way for promotion and he would take Carter with him. They would both benefit from this.

* * *

Harold woke up, when Reese came back. He wanted to say something, but didn't know how to find the right words. How could he say, what he had to say? He didn't want to hurt the younger man.

John sat down next to him and held his hand. "I'm glad you're still with me."

"John?"

"Yes, Harold?"

Finch's heart was heavy, his spirit gone and he wasn't able to say a single word, before he started crying, with a sadness that was heart-wrenching for his friend.


	20. I'm sorry

He was helpless, no matter how soothing his words and caring his touches were, Harold didn't stop crying. But the man was his best friend and John didn't have it in him to give up, yet.

He got down on his knees laying his arms around Finch's shaking body, carefully, to prevent any further damages. He didn't want to do any harm to him or cause pain with a careless touch. And most of all he didn't want to interfere with the medical equipment.

Harold leaned into his touch and cried into his friends shoulder. It felt so good to be held. He felt lost, felt his mind slipping away from this mad and cruel word. His usual self would be nervous and actually scared to be hugged, but the broken man he was now, ached for it. He needed it from someone that really cared and the only person who did in his life was John Reese. To hold onto his employee, his partner and his friend wasn't comforting enough to stop the deep pain he felt in his heart and mind, it didn't stop the darkness that was eating him from the inside, but it kept him sane and that was the most importing thing right now.

John let him cry for a while. He didn't care that his shirt was wet from the other man's tears. He had tried everything to stop the man's crying and nothing had helped. Now, he was just grateful that Finch didn't push him away. The man even held onto him. He was still crying, but John was sure something had changed. Like the touch seemed to be able to ease some of Harold's fears.

The doctor wanted to check on his patients vitals, but John's eyes told him to stay out of the room and that everything was under control. Fact was, that John didn't have anything under control, except Harold's vitals. He knew it had to be more than serious, if Finch allowed him to see him crying like this. The man was a master of composure and self-control. It was the right decision that he hadn't let the doctor come in. It was the least he could do for his boss.

His phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, while his other arm never left Finch's body. John could tell the sudden change in Harold's demeanor, the moment he grabbed his phone. The older man tried to bring distance between them, wanted to hide the hurt he felt inside. "Don't." John whispered, ignored the call and held him tight. "The ringing annoyed me", he said with a soothing smile.

Harold didn't smile back, didn't say anything, didn't relax, but he also didn't try to get away anymore. He couldn't think clearly, looked at the younger man, without really seeing him. He felt John's touch as if it came from a long distance, felt the man's warmth, but also felt further away from him than ever before. If he could only think! There was so much he had to tell Reese, wanted him to know. He desperately searched for himself in the emptiness of his mind and the darkness of his heart, but all there was, were fear and hurt. God, he hurt so much!

John was terrified to see the frightened, pained look in his friend's eyes. The more he held on to the man, the more he felt him slipping through his fingers. He needed to do something, but had no idea what would help in the current situation. All he knew, was that there was nobody else that could do anything. And he was honest enough with himself to admit that he wouldn't trust anyone else with Harold's life.

The ex-op thought back to his life before the numbers, before Finch. He had lost everything back then; with Jessica's death he had lost all hope, and without hope he had lost his life. He had lived on the street, had roamed the city all night to find a warm, safe place to sleep. The only thing he had held onto had been a bottle of whiskey. No, it hadn't been one a day for very long, he had drunk more and more with each passing day. The alcohol had had a grip on him that nothing and nobody ever had had on him before, not even Jessica.

He looked at the older man, who was still crying. It had been this way, till this man had found him, had finally saved him. He remembered, how he hadn't trusted the limping man with his somewhat old-fashioned suits and the funny looking glasses; how he had underestimated his strength at first. But Harold hadn't backed away from him, even though John had been able to smell his fear. He had known the man was scared of him, but he had been surprised by the determination he had seen in his features.

They had had a tough start with each other, a lot of fights and there had been mistrust, but he had soon found out that there had been more between them. He had finally realized how sad the man had looked to see him drinking too much, to see him giving his self away to another bottle of some cheap stuff.

Yes, to this day he could still see that sadness in Harold's features, when he thought John would be drinking more than the normal amount. Oh, he had never said a word about it to his employee, but he had always made sure that there was enough coffee or water waiting for the ex-soldier, whenever he came back to the library.

Whenever he had been close to lose control over his drinking again, Harold had kept him on the right track without saying a single word. His actions and behavior in those situations had always been enough. He had actually brought him back to the present more often than John liked to admit. The now sobbing older man had, in several situations, proved himself to be much stronger and much more focused than the well trained Reese, without knowing it.

This strength seemed to be lost. John didn't know what to do anymore. He was going to lose Harold and there was nothing he could do to stop it as long as the man didn't want to live. Finch was ready to give up and John felt pushed away. He got mad, wanted to hurt someone for this, but there was no one with him, except a dying man.

He was wasting his time, sitting around with nothing to do. Why did he even care? Harold, didn't care to say something. So, why should he sit here? He pushed the other man away, got up and went to the small cabinet on the other side of the room. Damn, he needed a drink. He got a bottle of expensive scotch and a glass. The drink helped to calm him down. "You have to tell me what's wrong, Mr. Finch."

But there wasn't any answer. "Good, if you don't wanna talk, I don't have to be sober, right?" John put the glass back and took a few sips from the bottle in his hand. "Why don't you talk to me?"

Harold still didn't say a word and John became angry. He had tried to stay with wine and beer since he was away from that cheap stuff he had hung onto. If he had had a whiskey or stuff like that, he didn't drink more than one or two glasses. But he couldn't stop himself right now and drank more of the tasty liquid.

"Just tell me what the hell is wrong with you. Can't you see, I wanna help you?"

No words, just a look. Harold was worried about John, but unable to voice his concern or his own fears and hurt. All he could do was to stare at the man with the bottle.

"_Well, at least I have his attention now." _John thought. But instead of the true heart-felt emotions, he read disgust, arrogance and carelessness in his partner's eyes. "Don't look at me like that. You don't want to talk, you don't want my help, fine. But you, of all people, have no right to look at me like that! You're not better than me!"

Deep inside, he knew that he was unfair to the broken man, but self-pity was a bitch. He held the bottle to his lips and drank some more. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't swaying, but he felt so fucking good.

"You know, I thought we were partners. I was blinded by your help, your faked selflessness and by your caring attitude. I thought you cared about me, but now, something goes wrong and I'm finally able to see clear." He paused for the scenic effect. "You, Harold Finch or Wren or whatever your real name is, YOU don't care about anyone!"

There was a twinge in his heart, when Harold looked at him as if John had stabbed him in his heart, but he drank the rest of the bottle. "Stop looking at me as if I have done this to you. I!, did not push that knife into you and left you bleeding to death!"

"Is that why you're drinking, John? Are you blaming yourself? It, it wasn't your fault."

He was so surprised that Finch finally decided to say something that he stood there for a few seconds and didn't move at all. He threw the empty bottle in a trash can nearby and walked over to the bed. "You're damn right, it wasn't my fault! So, stop blaming me!"

"John, I don't bl-"

Reese was fast, he got a grip of Harold's bad arm. The other man gasped for air, it was all he could do to not cry out in pain, while trying to get away from the ex-op.

The look of a wounded and trapped animal on Harold's face, brought John back to reality. When he realized what he was doing, he let go of his friend and stepped back. He was more than ashamed for what he had said and done in the last couple of minutes. It was long overdue, but he finally broke down. He went down on his knees and cried with his hands over his face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean the things I said. Please, forgive me. I feel so guilty for what happened to you. I should've been there to protect you."

"It wasn't your fault, Mr. Reese." Harold's voice was shaking, but also very soft and understanding.

"It's my job to take care of you, Finch. I know, you're always telling me that you pay me to safe those numbers, but you're my friend and that makes it my job to protect you. And that's nothing you have to pay for, it's just the way it is supposed to be." He paused a moment to look at the older man. He reached for his hand, but Harold was still too shocked from his outburst and pulled it back. "I'm so very very sorry, Harold. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm just so tired. Since this horrible night, I didn't get enough sleep or food, I felt like living on a roller coaster. When I saw you crying so heavily and you didn't wanna talk to me about it, I felt so helpless. I kinda lost it and it was wrong."

"I'm sorry, John." Harold had thought it before and here was the next proof. He was a huge burden on his partner. His tears came back full force.

John grabbed his friends hand as soon as he saw him reaching out to him. And he held him as tight as possible, without hurting him. Harold was still a little reluctantly.

Reese was totally aware of how much he had hurt and scared the man with the way he had been acting. It broke his heart, but he understood the man's reaction. Harold had been so understanding, after all he had said to him just a few minutes earlier. He felt shame for giving up so easily. Harold needed his help and he was ready to give it, no matter what.

No, he couldn't let the man down. He had to give it another try. "Please, talk to me, Harold." There was no answer to his words; all they caused were more tears. No, that wasn't quite right. His friend now clung on him as if his very life was depending on this touch.

"I'm here for you, Harold, whenever you need me. I won't go anywhere."

He was prepared for everything, but not for the agonized cry that followed. It was long, it was loud and it was the most intense, grief-stricken and pain filled noise John Reese had ever heard. Nobody he had ever tortured in the line of his CIA-work, sadly there had been an endless number of those, had ever screamed like the man in his arms.


End file.
